A Kiss in Time
by Bond.Jane
Summary: Just when Brennan had made up her mind about Booth, Agent Perotta, blond, petite, generally adorable and so Booth's type comes along to brush his ego. A new serial killer shows up in town, hunting down couples and Bones is not in on the action. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This story is a bit out of my comfort zone. It involves intrigue and action where I'm far more comfortable with mental processes, reflections and simple events. So, can I please ask you to let me know if something is off. **

**Note number 2: the story is set tagging the end of Hero in the Hold which, living in the UK I will not see for one further week. So a few moments in the beginning may not be exact with the show. I'm sorry for that. **

**Now on with the story!**

**Jane Bond.**

1

The noise of the helicopter was overwhelmingly loud. So loud it nearly managed to drown out the sound of the explosion that sank the ship into it's watery final rest. She should have felt like the prisoners of the Bastille did when the revolutionaries blew it up. It should have felt exhilarating and liberating. Instead, there was only that compassed thud of the helix carrying them away from what could have meant the end of the man she was now hugging. And by all accounts, hers. Because Brennan was under no illusion and she knew that she had been in there, with Booth, for the last 12 hours. And she would have gone down with him if that had been the way things had ended. She had been in there with him, in her heart, in her mind, in her thoughts and in all her actions. She knew what it meant to be buried alive, confined to a space you had little hope of escaping and nothing more than faith in someone other than yourself. Yes, she knew that so well it had been difficult to concentrate on anything else, nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but what he must have been feeling, what he must have been seeing for every single one of those 21 hours, every single one of those 1260 minutes, each of them felt as acutely as needles on her skin.

And now she knew as well what it had meant to be him when that bitch had taken her and Hodgins, that there were only small, insignificant things that you could do. There had been no one and nothing to shoot at, no doors no knock down, nothing you could satisfactorily do. That rage was not productive, and that sorrow was not an option.

She hugged him closer, tightened her grip further. She was never letting go of him. She was never letting him off her sight. Ever. His skin felt cold. She willed all her body heat into him. His hand on her back, always so warm was cold.

She removed the head piece that had allowed her to communicate with everyone on board and burrowed in his chest, rubbing her face lightly against his shirt. The rhythmic thud of the helix faded into the background. There was only the beating of his heart, reassuring, comforting. And the echo of his words, in that church, so long ago "_Take one of us, anyone one of us, and you and Hodgins are in that hole forever"._ He had thanked God for that. She wasn't quite sure who to thank. Though, she knew in her heart, more than in her brain right now, that a _thank you_ was in order. For being in that strange family that always came together when she needed them the most. Always came through.

**B**B**B**B**B**B**B

The next few hours passed in a haze. The landing, the drive to the hospital, the reports, the meetings with Cullen and the briefings and debriefings. She was running on adrenaline, the only sign of the hellish day was her make up, not so perfect any longer, fading into marks of rubbed eyes to push away tears, into lipstick nervously bitten clean of her lips. When she was finally free to go and see Booth, he was ready to leave the hospital, probably after threatening nurses and doctors into signing his release papers. She saw his silhouette at the end of the corridor in the dim yellow light, his stance, to her knowing eyes, less than light, less than happy. Less than relieved. Something was heavy on his chest, on his shoulders. And as she walked down the starkly lit, seemingly endless corridor, she vowed that that was a load he would not be carrying alone.

Impatience won and her heals stepped faster, hammering harder on the floor, hurrying their rush to get to Booth. Much like her heart. The rhythmic click clacking drew his attention. He turned to her and smiled. And God, she could have run and jumped into his arms just like in the old movies. She felt herself smiling like an idiot. She needed him like the air that she breathed. His laughter, his jokes, the grumpiness... hell, the whole package, she realized. She missed all of him when he was not around. Even if that measured in small amounts of time. She was unable to contain her enthusiasm and ran the last few feet towards him. To touch and smell, to hug and kiss him. She would have thrown herself at him, all thought of possible injuries forgotten. She would have thrown herself in his arms had it not been for a long, blond main of hair belonging to Agent Perotta making an appearance through the door of his room, an Agent Perotta fresh, perfumed, smiling and carrying his overnight bag. The very same overnight bag she had asked Angela to pack for him and take to the hospital. The very same she had lovingly instructed Angela to assemble in one of the few breaks she was allowed during the whole excruciating day.

Her heart fell to the floor. The hug her arms had started died before it came to be. Her smile extinguished itself and her throat closed in a painful knot.

"Bones! You're here!" The hug she expected from him did not happen. The hand she had got accustomed to having on the small of her back stayed in his pocket. Of what was usually hers, only the ghost of a smile remained.

"Dr Brennan, so you finally decided to join us..." Her brain registered the coldness of the other woman's tone, the dangerous glint in her eyes. But it refused to formulate an appropriate answer like _what the hell are you doing here _or _drop dead bitch. _ All the appropriate replies only came much later, when she was tossing and turning trying to sleep. Hindsight is not always a benefit. At that moment she managed only a stuttered reply.

"I... No... I was... Cullen..."

"S' OK, Bones... Can we go now?" At least, Brennan thought, he wasn't smiling at the blond cow. That was something.

"Sure", Agent Perotta piped in. "I got my car at the entrance". And her smile was for Booth only, it excluded Brennan much like a brick wall would. The thought of that woman driving Booth home and offering to make him soup or some such, the mere thought of those nails running down his back was enough to finally pull Brennan out of her stupor.

"That won't be necessary, Agent Perotta. I'll drive Agent Booth home" And she looped her arm through his, still resolutely in his pocket. She saw the protest dying in the the lightly lipsticked lips, her for-Booth-only smile still in the freshly makeuped face. It did occur to Brennan that Agent Perotta had had the time to refresh her make up and apply some perfume and even change from the clothes she had last seen her in and into something soft, feminine and alluring. And pink! God she hated pink! Oblivious or not, Brennan was not stupid and knew when a woman was out to get a man. She knew all the little tricks, all the strategies, all the moves. She had studied them like an anthropological project. What she did not recognize was that this was a woman who knew how to lose a battle in order to win a war.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note- Isn't it lovely when help is just offered? Random Acts of Kindness. MickeyBoggs, Thank you for your help with this chapter.**

**Note 2- I come from a long line of storytellers in no rush, who ** **wove their stories as if every detail mattered. The main detail on this story if for my sister who loves Booth in the tub. Because details do matter.**

**I hope you like it.**

**Jane**

2.

Brennan looped her arm through Booth's. It wasn't as much to steady him- which he really did not need- as to steady herself. It shocked her that the semi-confrontation with Agent Perotta had left her nervous. Shaky. The immovable Temperance Brennan was a little- well, a lot more than a little- upset. Too many swear words were coming to her mind to describe Agent Perotta which was not usual for her. Even when describing her characters in her books, she was far more creative- especially to describe her villains. That, well, the word _cow_ formed again and again in her mind to fill that particular space in the sentence- had just managed to upset her again for reducing her extended vocabulary to a stream of expletives- and none of them acceptable in civilized conversation.

"Bones, you OK?"

"Yeah..."

"You're very quiet..."  
"What was Perotta doing here?"

"Well, if you must know, _Agent_ Perotta came to see if I needed anything. And she stayed there talking to me because I was alone..."

"Booth... I... you weren't supposed to be alone... I... I mean, Cullen, he wanted to wrap this up today and..."

"Bones, It's OK, really!"

"No, it's not. I really wanted to be there with you, but he didn't let me..."

"And since when do you take orders from Cullen?" The immovable Temperance Brennan, the tower of strength, was shaken to the core. Again. He had a point. He had a very good point. Booth had been taken to hospital, the Gravedigger was in custody and all was under control. She should have told Cullen and his stiff lip to stuff it and gone to Booth. No matter what.

"I'm sorry..." her throat closed up on her again. Yes, she could have told Cullen what to do with his orders. But she had been strangely incapable of being close to a fragile Booth. Just like when her dad had been taken home in an ambulance, almost 30 years ago, with cast in his leg all the way up to his hip and she had hidden in the laundry room, incapable of looking at a fragile dad. It had taken a great deal of cajoling to get her to go into her smiling father's arms. As if he hadn't really been her dad, but a stranger... just because he was not his strong self that had left the house in the morning.

It would not do to deal with that particular thought at that moment, though. It was weakening, to think of herself with shame.

She drove her car into the residents' bay in front of Booth's building and turned the key in the ignition with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Booth."

"For saving me?"

"You know what I mean..."

"Not really, no."

"Just that...well... I should have stayed with you. Screw Cullen and his briefings and debriefings... I should have stayed there with you. Holding your hand. But..."

"Temperance..." Was that impatience in his voice? Was she boring him with all her I'm sorries? "I know why you didn't stay there... I didn't stay with you when the Gravedigger got you and Hodgins. I didn't hold your hand either. And now I know how much you needed it... The not being left alone and the not being closed up in a room and... And I was so busy with Cullen and Cam and Parker... Really, I understand..."

"Booth, it wasn't like that... really" but her voice hitched, it went an octave higher and her throat closed on her again. Had she said one more word, a single one, she would have cried. And neither of them needed it at that particular moment. So she took a deep breath and turned to him. Her hand, of its own volition, reached out to his face and traced a light caress down his now warmer skin. Her body seemed to have detached from her brain completely, because her mind kept on telling her that she should take him up, to the comfort of his bed, but her body leaned into his and the hug she did not receive at the hospital, the one she expected him to initiate, she gave, whole-heartedly, seated in that car, far too small to accommodate his frame with comfort. He pulled her closer to him and the tension in his shoulders eased a knot with each intake of air, with each different particle of her personal scent that he inhaled. Temperance Brennan was all that Seeley Booth needed to feel human again. And vice-versa.

"Come, let's go up. I'll make you a chicken soup you will never forget."

"Really? Chicken soup? For me, Bones?" His smile was nearly back.

"My mom used to say that chicken soup is good for everything." He kissed the top of her head, still nestled in his chest.

"Come on then, woman, go and cook for me!" It was difficult to let go of him. Even if he was holding her hand and standing so close that she could hear his skin against the cotton of his t-shirt.

********

As it turned out, chicken soup took its time to cook in real life. So, Brennan sent Booth for a bath. She arranged it all, including the candles, while he undressed in his bedroom. She lit as many candles as she could find. Darkness was not something that he would welcome for some time to come. Nor a closed door. Nor silence. So she put some soft music in the background and gave him privacy to enter the tub.

In the kitchen, she was getting anxious. The chicken soup was cooking and there wasn't much more that she could do. No fast forward button to push. Nothing to do except entertaining thoughts of Booth in the tub. No beer hat this time though. If she was going to fantasize, then might as well be to her own description. And it was her prerogative to remove beer hats from the equation. Scratch Green Lantern graphic novels as well. Though come to think of it, even a graphic novel should become engaging reading material if she were to get into that tub with him and just lean against him and let the dregs of the day wash away sitting between his legs and his arms. _Stop it Temperance. He does not need that from you now._ But the chicken soup was simmering slowly, and there were slices of bread already cut and the wine was open and there was nothing else to do. So before she could stop it, she found herself walking through the open door of his bathroom. And it wasn't like she could honestly say that she regretted it. Because ever since she had walked in on him almost a year ago the image had imprinted itself on her retina- beer hat and all. _Damn, now even the stupid beer hat looked good! _

Slowly she walked in, taking in the wide open eyes that did not see her, the tired, sad expression. She knew from experience he was back there. That there was something else weighing on him. So she sat at the edge of the tub and picked up a sponge and loading it with water, squeezed it over his skin, rubbing and massaging the tension away from his shoulders.

"Jeez, Bones, I'm naked here.."  
"I've seen you naked before."

"Don't you have any notion of personal space?"

"Of course I do..." It stung a little, the tone on his voice. She rubbed a bit harder.

"Then what are you doing?"

"Chicken soup for the soul..."  
"_Chicken soup for the soul._.. you have a way with words, Bones."

"Well, I am a New York Times best selling author... three times.. but the sentence is not mine." She continued to rub, hypnotic little circles, entranced by the way the light refracted on the water particles on his tanned skin. The music played in the background, indistinctly, and waves of steam rolled from the water and from his skin, the candles played tricks of the eye. And the skin of his back seemed to hold some sort of magic secret. She was losing track of time and of consciousness and would happily be in that world of steam for the next 100 years.

"Bones... Thank you..."

"For what?"  
"I know why you're here and what you're doing... Thank you.. for not leaving me alone."  
Her hand stopped. She wasn't quite sure what to answer. What could she answer anyway? A sigh escaped her and she resumed the massage with the sponge.

"The chicken soup is ready. Get out when you're done." And on an impulse, she kissed the top of his head like he had done so many times to her. And it felt good. So good that she could not help it but smile quietly as she left the bathroom.

*******

She studiously avoided any questions about the events of the last day during dinner. She wasn't quite sure what to talk about but he seemed contented with silence and her presence. Which was good because she really sucked at small talk and the only thing worrying her now was how he was processing the experience. It had taken her well over a year to stop fearing the parking lot or the dark of the night, or the small box room at the end of her corridor. More than that to stop the dreams where she felt herself dying, falling asleep without air, the stunned realization that she was going to die and that there wasn't a single thing that she could do. She wasn't sure talking about it would help in any case. That was a credo for the psychologists and psychiatrists – all people she did not put any credence on. But the chicken soup did help as did the bottle of wine, and the chocolate he dug up from the cupboard. There was a lot to be said for comfort food. And for the TV he switched on after dinner to watch some silly movie. There was lot to be said for putting the brain in neutral. He hugged her and she relaxed against his chest. As if she was the one who needed comfort and not him. As if she had been the one going through that again and not him. But every once in a while, he would squeeze her in his arms as if he was holding on to the reality of her to stop some force dragging him back into that place.

The TV was set on low, and there was a blanket over them and some wine still in the glasses and the warmth of his arms around her, so, Brennan thought, life was, at that moment, pretty good. And then his phone rang. And he picked up after checking caller ID. And the voice was feminine, and not Rebecca's, and not Angela's and certainly, not motherly. And he laughed at something or other and somehow the voice on the other side of the line sounded blond and FBI-like. And Booth liked his blonds, busty and needy and homely and petite. And herself? Well, she was none of those things.

She got up to use the bathroom and give him time to finish the conversation. He had stood up and was pacing the room as he spoke. His eyebrow raised into a question mark as she walked out but the conversation on the other side of the line kept going and he did not even reach out to hold her to him. It was silly, she thought, that she had hoped he would not take the call, or, at the very least, give her a sign that she was more important than some blond bimbo calling him. Life, she had known for a very long time, was a difficult navigation in a sea of little and major disappointments.


	3. Chapter 3

**A thank you to MickeyBoogs is order again- and it will be until she gets tired of proof reading for this story. Thank you as well for her comments on the scene. They made laugh.**

**And to you all out there reading and commenting, THANK YOU!**

**Jane**

Chapter 3

When she returned to the living room, he was nursing his glass of wine and staring into space.

"What did _she_ want?" Brennan made a brief mental note to mind the tone she used when she spoke about Agent Perotta.  
"Nothing much. Just checking up... touching base."

"Yeah, because there must have been so many new developments between the time she offered to bring you home and four hours later when she should be letting you sleep..." The tone surprised even Brennan. She really had to get that in check.

"You're not letting me sleep either..." he smiled his comment, but it still felt a bit like a punch. She turned to look at him, hurt, ill ill-disguised, fresh and intense in her eyes, fighting the urge to get up and leave. He didn't chicken out on her when she pushed away at him- and then she saw it, that stupid charm smile she liked so much playing in his eyes. A smile that was like a balm on her frayed nerves.

"Bones... I didn't mean it like that... it was just a stupid joke, honest!" he walked closer to her, startled to realize that she had not seen the humor through his words.

"You don't want me to go?" Was that her voice, coming out so small? He pulled her into his arms.

"I really don't. Stay. Please."

**********

She stayed over at Booth's that night. She dragged a blanket and a pillow to the couch and settled herself to sleep. She kept her ears trained on his bedroom and for the first two hours there was only the sound of the springs of the mattress and the squeaking of the bed as he tossed and turned. She was hoping for his slight snoring, the one that had lullabied her to sleep so many nights in her apartment, but the sound just did not come. She too had been too afraid of closing her eyes for the first month and was beaten to sleep by pure exhaustion every night. She was having a hard time herself now, plagued by the what ifs she had avoided all day. And the replies she should have barked at Agent agent Perotta back in hospital.

Knowing when she was beaten, she got up, fixed two glasses of warm milk and walked into his bed room, a place as sacred to her as a church was to him. She had only been there once, by intended mistake. She had asked to use the bathroom and took a detour while he was on the phone. It had surprised her, the slick masculine atmosphere, the dark woods, the gray sheets, the white light curtains. And it had overwhelmed her, that she was invading his personal space, where he took the women he loved and made love to them. Because Booth was all about making love and it hadn't even crossed her mind that he might be or at least do otherwise. Just that she would never be taken there because his line was as good as drawn on the threshold of that door. So when she walked in, two glasses of milk in hand it was with some trepidation of the heart.

There was a small bed side lamp on- just like she had done herself- shedding light over his frame sprawled on the bed. He moved to a sitting position, his hand under the pillow where she was now sure he kept a weapon. His face relaxed slightly when she walked in.

"Bones... why aren't you asleep yet?"

"I'm not sleepy"

"Bones, you haven't slept in how long? 3 days now? Go to sleep. You need it." She ignored the remark and sat on his bed. Her hand was steady when she handed him the glass of milk, but her heart was beating wildly, as if she had just ran a marathon or knocked down a wall. Maybe even a line.

"Drink this. It's going to help you sleep."  
"I doubt that..." He rubbed his forehead with vigor and then his whole scalp. Like he could beat his mind into relaxing. Brennan walked around his bed, clad in one of his t shitst-shirts, her long legs reflecting promises of something Booth was quite sure he was not entitled to, and sat on his left side. She fluffed a pillow, pulled the covers over her and drank her milk, daring him to object to her presence there.

"I'm not going to rape you, Booth. Or do anything that you're not comfortable with. But I heard you toss and turn. And I know why and how it feels. I really do. So..." and she arranged herself on the bed, pulling the covers up and propped her hands, primly crossed on her lap while she breathed in the courage to finish her little speech, "Just drink your milk, lay down and let me stay here, take care of you. I promise I won't brag about it more than once or twice. You can keep you macho reputation intact." God, that woman had a smile worth risking damnation for.

"Yes ma'am." He contemplated the glass of milk for a fraction of a second. "Jjust like medicine, ha?"

"Just like it!" and he drank the contents in one go. He slid down on the bed and considered how on earth was her presence supposed to make him sleep at all if he was going to spend the night afraid that, if he let his guard down, his body might act on all the repressed desires it had been harboring for so long, leaving her no alternative but to beat the crap out of him. Booth sighed deeply and turned to face her, her hair spread in waves behind her in the pillow, her eyes heavy with sleep she was fighting hard to push away. Just so that she could watch over him. Life could be pretty good at times.

"It's going to go away, Booth. Eventually, you'll go back to not being so damned scared of being in a dark place, and you'll find out that you can sleep with the door closed. I promise." What could he do but believe her? There was something in that moment, the moment with Temperance Brennan layinglying on his bed, holding his hand and speaking softly to him that managed to be even better than all the nights of sweaty love love-making, of wild fucking, of sweet promises he had fantasized about day in and day out for the last 4 years. It was something of childlike innocence, the stuff perfection is made of. His eyes closed slowly, no sudden shivers down his spine, now tremors of that bone bone-deep cold coming back, not an ounce of fear. Just Temperance Brennan, warm and sweet. Yes, life was pretty darn good, sometimes.

*******

Morning came in through the windows to find Agent Booth still asleep, peacefully, sprawled face down in his bed and Dr. Brennan standing guard, looking out for all the unwelcome ghosts, for all signs that memories of the previous day were returning to disturb his sleep. Her hand ran down the man's hair, her short nails tracing line patterns that soothed the man in his sleep. Dr. Brennan was a determined woman: no ghosts would get past her to hurt him.

Booth woke up with a sense of peace seeping in from sleep to awake. He had not expected to have slept at all. And yet, there he was, at nearly 9 am, waking up to a glorious sunshine, feeling top of the world. He looked around for Bones. When he didn't see her in his bed, a fleeting thought that he might have hallucinated last night left a bitter taste on his mouth. But as he looked to his left side, the shape of her head was still imprinted on the pillow and her scent was still there. He ran his hand down the sheets where she had slept and found them still warm and that bitter taste in his mouth was, like all the ghosts, pushed away slowly but steadily.

A soft noise stopped in the bathroom and he realized that she had been taking a shower. He knew he was smiling like an idiot, but he just could not make himself stop. Bones, naked and wet in his bathroom. It was the stuff his teenage fantasies were made of.

She came out in a cloud of fog, smelling like his soap and shampoo. His body stood to attention immediately. Almost painfully too, which, to his mind, served him just right for entertaining all sorts of indecent thoughts about Bones after she'd been nothing but kind to him.

Her hair was wet and her face make up up-free, her cheeks blushed from the hot water. She was wearing the same t t-shirt she had borrowed from him the previous night and seemed so completely at ease in his bedroom it surprised him.

"I should get dressed... you need to go home and get fresh clothes, Bones... I mean, you could borrow something from me, but I don't have any underwear for you..."

"Oh," she walked to sit by his side " it's OK. I washed my underwear last night and it's nice and dry now. But you're right, I need to get fresh clothes. These will soon be walking on their own..."

"So what underwear were you wearing last night?" She could hear the slight panic in his voice. Score one for Temperance Brennan.

"Nothing. Everything was drying in your bathroom" Booth actually blushed. And score two for Temperance Brennan.

"You mean... you were..."  
"I was not naked, Booth! I had your t t-shirt on" Her eyes returned his gaze with clear innocence. He groaned. And she had scored the third. Better stop while she was ahead.

"I'm going to have a shower. And then we'll get you to your place to change. I need to go somewhere. And you're coming with me." The fact that he included her so immediately in whatever plans he had made her happy. And then the his cell rang. Would he notice if she turned it to mute? _Bad, bad, Brennan!_ She walked over to his bed side table and looked at the caller ID. She was not going to do anything, she really wasn't. But then that name, _Perotta_, made her blood boil every sylablesyllable. She picked up the phone and walked out of hear shot.

"Booth's phone..." she croaked in her best sleepy, sexed-up voice.

"Dr. Brennan?" There was a clipped tone of surprise on the other end.

"Oh, hello, Agent Perotta." She yawned loudly.

"Can I have a word with Agent Booth, please, Dr. Brennan?" The cold on the other woman'ss' voice should have been enough to freeze Brennan down to her bones. If she had been the impressionable type. Which she wasn't.

"Oh... he's hum... in the shower..." Brennan retorted with hesitation a plenty, still in her bedroom voice, something she had borrowed, not for the first time, from Katherine Hepburn- with just a hint of Greta Garbo for good measure. It was good fun, messing about with the blond. "And I would have expected the FBI to allow Agent Booth at least one day off after what he went through... Maybe I should have a word with Cullen about this issue..." Slight hesitation on the other end.

"I'll call back latter, then." Brennan snorted. She wanted to tell Perotta that Booth was not going to be available, that he was not interested, something- anything- that would stop the little blond hurricane from messing with her carefully laid plan. But so far, she had not lied, she had only... well... made a voice which was not a crime. Or was it?

"You do that, then!" Definitely there was not love lost between the two of them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: After all of Mickey Boggs careful editing, I managed to upload the last chapter with both the editing and corrected version... Sod's Law is alive and well, right? **

**So, again with Mickey's help- and this time with the A_ccept Changes_ button pressed furiously- ladies and gents, chapter 4 for you entertainment!**

**Jane  
**

4.

Booth really disliked sitting in the passenger seat. He was a man of action after all. He liked to be in charge of everything. That included driving. So he insisted that Brennan's car was left in the residents' bay outside his apartment and that he took his SUV. Which, by force of habit, was fine with Brennan. Somethings there was no point arguing about and had to be taken in stride. And besides, there was something about the whole situation that secretly pleased her. She did not dwell on the matter much as she wisely usually left sleeping dogs alone. And this was one of those dogs.

Booth drove her to her apartment and made coffee while she changed. He liked the domesticity of it all, the fact that she was changing attire with him in the room, that he was making them coffee and that they had spent last night together. Though not exactly the together that he fantasized about, it was still a very good thing to feel on the morning after you been freed from a crazed killer that would let you suffocate to death or be exploded into smithereens with a sinking ship. And because there was still one more thing that he had to do, something that had feared for so long, he hunted down some cookiesto go with the coffee. Sugar was good for courage. Just like chicken soup was good for the soul.

Brennan made an appearance not long after she had disappeared into her bedroom. She really was not the overly female type, taking three hours to get ready. That was one of the million little things he so liked about her.

She sat on the kitchen counter and he placed a coffee cup in her hands. On an impulse, he kissed her on the forehead. And it felt really nice that she did not swat him away or dismiss it as mushy stuff. Pleased with himself, he sat next to her and handed her cookies, companionably. Yes, all in all, life was, at that particular moment, he thought, pretty damned good.

Brennan was on the same wavelength. Life was good. Even if the kiss that she had wanted had landed a few inches above her target of choice. But there was time.

Brennan did not ask what they were doing in Arlington cemetery. It was pretty obvious. Booth knew exactly where he was heading, navigating their way through the rows and rows of white crosses, all exactly alike, as if the men they stood for did not have anything different from one another. Death was the supreme equalizer. Everybody dies the same, no matter what the circumstances. It was fitting that in death nothing would distinguish them. The weight on Booth's shoulders seemed to increase as his pace slowed down. She stayed behind. This was something there that he needed to do alone. Though he was not, not really, because she was there and she knew that something weighed on him.

A woman stood by a grave, a lonely figure. It was such a perfect day. Such a perfect day to be alive. Booth embraced the woman and waved. The man by her side echoed her thoughts, as if he'd been listening to them. She smiled. And she waved back. Just in case he had been waving at her. And his shoulders dropped some of the weight they'd been carrying around since the day before.

It was such a perfect day he should have known it wouldn't last. They had shared lunch- a proper lunch, with table cloth and cloth napkins and proper metal cutlery. No paper napkins, not plastic forks, no paper cups. It was a nice Italian restaurant, with nice waiters with a real accent- at least according to Bones, as he wouldn't have thought that someone might want to fake an accent just to work in a restaurant- and really good food. They had kept to small talk, about families and sports and, distressingly, no bickering. Bones was taking everything that he said in stride, making an obvious effort to not saying the wrong thing or, simply, not to fall into his all-too-often provocations. They had laughed and shared ice cream and sat soaking up the sun just like any other couple would do on such a perfect day, an almost Sunday, even though it was only Tuesday- in its perfection.

But perfect days were not for him. Even if Bones' hands had cleaned up ice cream from his face or smoothed over a stubborn strand of hair that was standing in spite of the layer of hair gel. No perfect days for Seeley Booth. He should have known it when his phone rang, that it was nothing more that yet one more Monday. He hated Mondays.

It had been a long time since Brennan had lived through a perfect day. 17 years give or take. Ice cream in the park and kisses on the forehead- even when she wanted them a few inches further down, warm hands on the small of her back but, most of all, the feeling of knowing exactly what you want, how to get it and even better, that it is there, just waiting for you. Life with a plan was simple. If only phones could be _disinvented_.

When his cell rang, in the middle of the film they were watching with her curled up in his sofa, in her mind, Agent Perotta met with an untimely end. Something between a bullet from her over-sized gun and a brick satisfactorily plunging into her blond mane of nicely arranged long hair. She was starting to hate petite, busty, fragile blonds. And they seemed to be everywhere. Maybe that was what was meant by Karma.

But when Booth came back, is face was ashen and he was agitated.

"Jared"

"Oh..." Silent understanding passed between them.

"I need to take care ofthis." She wanted to remind him of what Sweets had said about allowing Jared to grow up, to face his mistakes, but Jared had put his career on the line because of Booth. And he was family. "Please stay..."

Her heart jolted, happy, and Brennan nodded. Booth left with yet one more kiss on her forehead. And as he walked out the door, with Bones snuggling in his sofa, he thought again about how perfect days were not for him.

Brennan woke up with her neck in a knot and little idea where she was. The sofa was familiar but not her own, the living room had strange furniture in the dim light of dawn. But the blanket she was wrapped in smelled like Booth. And that brought her to reality with a smile. It begged the question, though, why was she asleep on his sofa, not in his bed and why was her only companion a pillow and not him. Just for form she called out his name. She knew he wouldn't have left her to sleep in that not-so-comfortable sofa. He would have taken her to bed, even if he, himself, had to sleep on the sofa. Which could only mean that he had not come back home.

So she collected her stuff with some disappointment and headed home. That was not how she had hoped the morning would find her. Not at all. She considered briefly calling Booth. She had even hunted down her phone but as she was about to hit the speed dial, she gave up on the idea. Because he had things to sort out that did not involve her and because she did not want to look... needy. Needy people tended to scare others. In Booth's case, it tended to bring out his protective instinct and she did not need to be patronized or, worse yet, have him think about her as someone who needed to be protected. God knew that she had had that for 4 years now and it hadn't done her any favors.

When she walked into the lab, Angela gave her a measuring look but held her tongue. The hesitation went unnoticed by Brennan but not by Cam nor Hodgins. A small group formed, the purpose clear: a bit of gossip.

"Dude, she is glowing!"

"Love will do that to you, Hodgie!"

"She's coming in alone, though"

"Very perceptive, oh High Priestess of the Obvious..." Cam gave Hodgins a stare that would have troubled a lesser man. "Of course she's alone. If you were trying to disguise the fact that you were sleeping with a co-worker, you'd be coming in alone too." It did not escape any of the three the irony of the remark. Cam turned her gaze back to Brennan's office door, still open. As did Angela.

"She did not sleep with him though. Not in the bumping the uglies sense, though."

"Huh?"

"They did not tumble in the hay, do the deed, play mommy and daddy..."  
"Yeah, yeah, we got the idea" Cam interrupted, impatience flaring. "Why do you say that?"

"She is not walking like she had sex with a stud like Booth, that's all. She's walking normal..."

"I don't think you're meaning that in the sense of walking on clouds..." Hodgins whispered conspiratorially as Brennan approached the platform still buttoning her lab coat. Angela turned to walk towards Brennan and gave him a knowing smile.

"Not at all, Hodgie, not at all"

Altogether, until 3 pm, Brennan made three phone calls to Booth. All to check on him. She did not ask anything about Jared, about problems. Just mundane little things like _did you have coffee yet _or _do you want to meet for lunch _or even _I'll make you snickerdoodles if you come to my place for dinner_. The offer was extended to however late he needed to get there.

Brennan was unaware that, under the stairs to the meeting area where she had chosen to make every single one of her calls, Angela Montenegro was listening. And Angela would be the first one to admit that she had been hoping for some detail to escape the conversation, something along the lines of _was it as good for you as it was for me_. For, the fairy godmother that she was, she was also willing to admit that she would have preferred to have a finger in those two hopping into bed together. That would be of the crowning glory in her matchmaking career. So, all things considered, things were looking just fine and dandy: the dynamic duo was on its way to becoming one- and thus providing ample gossip material- but still needed one final push. And that made her day.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Again with Mickey Boggs help, here it is, chapter five.**

5.

Brennan was finding it hard to concentrate. The lab was unusually quiet. There was no coming and going of rushing footsteps heading towards solving a case, no nervous voices sharing vital information about a victim or a killer. Above all, there was no Booth's voice coming thundering down the corridor telling them they had a case. It was like working in a museum- all was quiet, sedated and... well, boring. And that was a first for her. Her mind drifted off, far, far away from the hundreds of bodies in Limbo that required her attention, from all the requests sitting on her in tray waiting for a reply, all the papers waiting to be graded. She sat at her desk, cheek propped absently on her closed fist and her fingers toyed around with a gold wedding ring Booth had carelessly tossed into her hands when they had gone undercover with the circus. It was silly even to her, but Brennan had kept it in her drawer at the lab and every once in a while her fingers felt around the contents of said drawer to find and play with it. Lately, her brain had been busy calibrating, adjusting to her thirties that had seemed to have crept up on her, unannounced. Just yesterday she was a twenty-something, not a care in the world except the assignments and her books and the great consult requests she received from around the world. Now she felt the full weight of age and her future- which she hadn't even considered before- loomed. The ring her fingers were playing with turned on itself and she sighed. Her ring finger slid into the gold loop. The other nine fingers drove it home and she looked at the effect on her hand.

She turned to her computer and opened the folder that contained the lastest chapter of her book. The cursor started blinking its vertical little line and the words just flew out of her fingers. Kathy and Andy just jumped on each other and kisses and caresses started taking shape under her guidance. Except in her mind, they no longer looked like her Kathy and Andy but had lost the facial features that she had so often described and were turning into two distinct people, one of whom she saw daily staring back at her from the mirror. Her usual third person narrator changed, unannounced to her, into the first person and her sentences changed from the customary _he_ and _she_ into _I _as in_ I opened up to accept him into my body_ and _my nails raked his back and brought him further inside me, completing me_.

Brennan wrote feverishly, her tongue running through her dry lips, her skin warm and her cheeks flushed. She could feel herself getting wet. At that moment, she was not in her office typing a love scene, she was elsewhere, maybe in that room she had not bothered describing, doing and having done to her all the things that her fingers were so busy typing away. And that's probably why Angela managed to walk none-too-subtly towards her friend- blame it on the irritations of the day- and read over Brennan's shoulder for the duration of the scene until the characters _climaxed like waves crushing simultaneously into each other in an explosion of energy comparable only to what the Big Bang is accepted to have been_. Angela was, herself, having a slight out of body experience and if Brennan had not hesitated as Kathy and Andy rested in each other's arms, she would have probably continued on reading.

As it was, Brennan blushed violently, fumbling with the save button to close the document. Angela, completely nonplussed, walked to stand in front of her friend.

"That right there, Brenn is why your books sell like hot cakes. I mean, yes, the science is accurate and sexy, but that right there? That sells..." Brennan was about to exhale her relief when Angela spoke again. "And didn't Kathy use to be blond? Since when does she have _strands of auburn hair fanning out in the pillow_?" She did give Brennan time to reply, but years of training in martial arts, meditation and control over her emotions did not help Brennan in formulating a reply. Instead of an embarrassing stammer, Brennan opted for silence which, for Angela, she knew, was as telling as a whole chapter.

"Talk about living vicariously, Sweetie!" Angela pulled a chair and sat in front of her desk which Brennan recognized as a warning that the conversation was going to be long and painful.

"I don't know what that means..."  
"Funny, sweetie, but I'm pretty sure you know the word well." Angela smiled an invitation for an admission of truth. She was quite proud of that smile. It invited trust and confidence and had never failed her.

"I know what the word means, Angie... I... I'm just not sure I understand what you mean by that..." Well, Angela thought, the trust smile had never failed her until Brennan who was, at that moment, the picture of innocence and cluelessness, her eyes wide and the expression blank as if she really was expecting clarification. And the artist knew, at that very moment, that if not all, at least a great number of times Brennan had come up with her catch phrase _"I don't know what that means" _in situations of sexual innuendo not only did she know fully well what it meant but it was nothing more than a device to deflect attention and to avoid dealing with something. _Clueless, my ass. The cheeky minx!_ She cleared her throat.

"Whatever, Brenn." And then she spotted the wedding band in Brennan's hand. Brennan was just troll feeding her in spades and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to take the opportunity. "And what's that on your finger, then?" Brennan abruptly pulled her hands back into her lap. So abruptly she knocked down a small bundle of papers that had been resting between her hands and the keyboard. Angela just crossed her arms in a challenge that did not go unnoticed. Knowing she had nowhere to hide, she put her hands back on her desk, slowly, just like when she had been a kid in school, caught by the teacher doing something that she wasn't supposed to do. Not that it had happen more than once, but the feeling was still vivid in her memory.

"It's nothing, Ange.... really" The tone in her cheeks deepened to nearly purple. Angela kept silent. "Booth gave it me..." Brennan searched Angela's face as best as she could while avoiding her eyes. "It's a wedding ring... Booth gave it to me when we went undercover with the circus..." Damn nervous chattering. Like she didn't know any better that all criminals talked to fill the silence and ended up getting caught in their own lies and practically writing up their confession.

"Um... Booth gave you a wedding ring... to wear when the two of you were alone, sharing a camper van with only _one very_ _small_ bed..." There was no deeper tone of purple for Brennan's cheeks to get, but the temperature in her face kept on increasing. "Nice... what else did he give you?"  
"Ange... it's not like that... really" Brennan put her hands in her face. She could have fried eggs in her cheeks.

"Then how is like, Brenn? Because there you are, writing sex scenes with the two of you in mind, calling him all the time to make sure he ate, he slept, he had coffee... That's very... wifely in my book. And God knows you're blushing way past the far side of the tomato red shade, so how about you tell me what's going on, huh? Seriously, because even you must be about to burst with all that you hold inside..." There was a long sigh coming from Brennan's general direction.

"I huh... "Angela got up, closed the door to the office and walked back to sit behind Brennan on the arm of her chair. Her hand cuddled Brennan's hair softly cajoling the truth out of her lips. "I'm not his type, Angela. His types are petite, helpless blonds with long hair, big breasts and that wear pink." Was that a strangled sob that Angela heard from Brennan? Nuh, she must have heard it wrong.

"And you're not blond, you're not petite, you're certainly not helpless and you don't wear pink. You hate pink..."

"Yeah.... With a passion." Brennan sighed deeply. "I'm just not his type, so there's no point in..."

"Brennan, he does not like only blonds... How about Cam, huh?"

"The exception that confirms the rule"

"Um... NO!" Angela remained unconvinced. "How long, Brenn?"

"How long what?"  
"Don't play dumb, Sweetie" There was threat in Angela's tone. Brennan snapped to attention.

"Oh... I don't know. Forever, it seems."  
"Sweetie, the man has the hots for you. A monkey could spell it out. Why don't do you do something about it? Really, he doesn't need much of a push. He's like a ripe banana..."

"Not so little a push, it seems... And what would I do, Angela?" Brennan's cheek rested again on her fist, the one sporting the wedding ring. She was the picture of private desolation.

"So you just decided to keep quiet? That is _so_ not like you..."

"I know. But we're working together, and I get to see him every day and we do most everything together and... it's..."  
"Like you're married but without the hot, steamy and dirty sex?"

"I was going to say _the next best thing_, but yeah... And I've been losing my mind slowly, and I've just been trying to do it politely and discreetly because, really, I don't need high school all over again, Ange. He doesn't want me... I'm just there, smack in the middle of his life, but it doesn't mean that he wants me. It's like a habit. And every once in a while I try to get some grip over my life and I'll go out on a date and he just finds a way to crash it and be irresistible and charming and the only thing that happens is that I get all excited thinking, _this is it, this is the time,_ but it never is..." The blue eyes had clouded over with a thin veil of tears, fiercely held back. Angela pulled Brennan into a hug. She was at a loss for words. She had always thought that Brennan was the one resisting the gravitational pull those two had. She wanted to come up with a plan of action, something that would speed Booth into action, but somehow, it seemed misguided and silly. They were thirty-something women and men and high school seemed, at that particular moment, far, far away.

"Go to the mattresses, Brenn. I never pegged you for the giving up type"

"I don't think hopping into bed with him would solve anything"

"Says who? Besides, that's not what I meant. It's an expression from _The_ _Godfather_..." A blank stare met Angela's eyes, this time, genuine. "I meant fight. If you want him, fight. Fight dirty if you have to but fight. Blondie does not stand a chance if you put your mind to it, Brenn."

"Angela... What if..."

"If? There is no if. But if everything else fails, you can always kidnap him and beat the crap out of her. I love a good cat fight... It's kinda hot..." The thought had actually managed to make Brennan smile.

"I thought about _beating the crap out of her_ already..."

"Beat the crap out of whom?"

Booth chose that particular moment to walk into office, silently, head hanging low. Angela got up slowly from her perch next to Brennan.

"Her mud wrestling partner... I'll see you later, Sweetie." Brennan nodded, grateful for the near-darkness of her office with the blinds drawn against the beautiful sunshine of a perfect day outside. To give herself time, Brennan fiddled around with the computer, trying her best to look busy, hastily removed the wedding band from her finger and stuffed in the drawer inside the same white paper envelope Booth had given it to her.

He sat down heavily on the sofa, the weight of all his worries making the sofa sink a little on the floor. Far more composed, Brennan walked towards him and sat by his side. She tucked her hands between her knees, a habit she developed of late when sitting next to him, the only way she could stop her hands from wandering through him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head in a negative. "Just tell me this, is everything OK?"

"Not yet, Bones." There was something so close to defeat in his voice that it broke her heart. "Can I take a nap here?"

"Wouldn't you rather go home? I can drive if you want..."

"I'd rather stay here with you..." and he tapped the sofa next to him. Brennan got up, picked up the pile of papers to grade and sat where he had indicated. It took her by surprise that he laid his head on her lap and snuggled until he found a comfortable position.

"I'm sorry you missed your big scientist of the century event, Bones."

"It's OK, Booth..."

"No... you looked really pretty in that dress, too. Like Cinderella or something" Her heart tightened in the chest. "Will they have another ball like that for you?"  
"It wasn't a ball" She smiled. "I think they'll just mail it to me."

"Well, I'm sorry you missed it. It was pretty big stuff for you"

"It's OK. Next time I win it we'll all be there."

In less than five minutes of her running her fingers through his hair he was snoring softly, his breathing a well-known cadence she had devoted a long time to learning by heart.

****

On the platform, Angela was leaning against the railing. Only Brennan's head was visible, her right hand caressing something that Angela supposed would be Booth's shoulder and the left holding what must have been one of her students' papers to grade. Her right hand occasionally held a pen and scribbled something. Angela sighed yet again, which drew Hodgins' silent attention. Angela had been observing the two, musing on her short conversation with Brennan. And Hodgins knew well what was running through her mind. Plans. Angela was all about matchmaking, love-inducing plans.

That very thought was, indeed, playing back and forth like a tennis ball in Angela's head but was shaped differently from Hodgins' hypothesis. She had to do something. Anything. The question was what. She thought she knew Brennan well but if anything, the afternoon had only proved she didn't. What if Booth turned out to be the same level of surprise?


	6. Chapter 6

6.

The tall figure of a man walked hurriedly through the dark park, weaving in and out of the shadows the trees cast even in the night. He had a way of walking without drawing attention to himself, which was good for what he had to do. His shoes were silent in the parking lot pavement, his gait light and unencumbered. He approached the brand new car, the windows slightly steamed. Giggles and moans were coming from inside and he knew that inside, a couple was making out. He knocked on the window of the passenger seat with his knuckles and succeeded in attracting attention at the third knock. He knew it and soon they would know it as well that his face would be the last thing that they ever saw in life.

With a grin and what his victim would have termed a demonic light in his eyes had she been able to describe him later, he plunged the baseball bat, his most prized possession into the surprised face of the woman with the flushed cheeks and the pink shirt open to reveal a pink lacy bra. What was left was a contorted mass of blood and exposed bone. The man sitting by her side was too surprised, too terrified to utter a word, to move, too terrified to do other than relieve himself in his pants.

The man holding the bat was hit by the warm, metallic smell of blood and it gave him a heady feeling, a mental orgasm as he secretly termed it.

He dragged the woman out of the car and finished the job without emotion. She was no longer conscious and would give no other stunned or scared or pleading look. He turned to the man still sitting behind the wheel. With the bat he signaled him out. The man shook his head in the negative, tears of terror shedding down his handsome features. The baseball bat swung in the direction of the windshield and though it stopped short of the glass, it spurred the terrified man into action, adrenaline pumping in his veins, speeding his heart to an impossible rate. The man with the bat stayed behind, thinking how that man's heart must have been beating like a rabbit's before the slaughter and only after the other regained his footing from a near fall did he give him chase. And there it was again, that heady feeling, that mental orgasm building up and up and up until he caught up the man covered in blood specks from the woman he had been fondling in the steamy car.

This time, when it swung, the bat did not stop short. It continued on his arched movement that started high above the killer's neck and continued even after it had bashed in the victim's skull, giving the head an unnatural shape of a deflated football. The man with the bat laughed heartily when his victim continued to run as if he had not felt the gross impact. Like a headless chicken, the man thought. It was time to finish it. So he cut off the man still heading towards the exit of the park and looking him straight in the eyes, dealt the final blow. He stayed there for nearly 3 minutes timing how long it took for the light of life to extinguish itself the man's eyes. And then he finally orgasmed. Came like a rocket in his own pants at the thought that his face was the last face his victims ever saw. He was the unifying factor in these people's death. Not the ferryman, not God, not the dark hooded figure with the scythe, but him and his trusted bat.

*******

It was nearly nine o'clock when Booth woke up with a feeling that it was going to be a bad day. He just knew it in his bones, the same way you know it's going to rain.

Problems aside, he had slept in Bones' office for nearly six undisturbed, peaceful and restful hours, lulled to sleep by her light hands running through his hair and his shoulder. There was something to be said for having someone to care enough for you that she will sit in a darkened office with your head in her lap just watching you sleep- in a totally non-creepy way like that Pam Nunan woman. He had woken up to see a pile of graded papers neatly stacked on the floor. And when he had stirred, she interrupted the light sleep she had given into. Her head had lolled to the side and thin strand of saliva was running down her slightly open, thoroughly kissable mouth. They had dinner at the diner because he had refused her candid invitation for dinner at her place. He wouldn't be able to explain it to himself, let alone to her. But he had felt her gravitating very close to him these last few days and though fear was not an accurate word to describe his feelings towards that, it wasn't that far off. He postponed the analysis for a when he had a beer or two already in him.

He drove her to her place and kissed her forehead goodnight. That was becoming a habit, a comfort and he didn't want to stop doing it. But he wouldn't be going in that night.

It was perhaps guilt at the look in her eyes, like he had just crushed something, the proverbial elephant in a china shop, but he slept -and for 6 more hours- what the hell was wrong with him, anyhow, it was not peaceful slumber of the afternoon in her couch. It was a drifting in and out of sleep that leaves you exhausted and cranky. He pushed back at the feeling that he was somehow being a bastard, and opened the windows to the brand new day outside. It smelled fresh and new and appetizing. He picked up the phone and as he was about to dial Bones' number, the screen illuminated and the Bureau number showed on the caller ID. _Never a break_ he thought as he answered the call.

Brennan had not slept. At all. In her mind, Booth's refusal for dinner- when had he _ever_ refused dinner?- painted a scenario in her head. Agent Perotta and Agent Perotta's long flowing blond hair over a pink dress, smiling her pink lipstick at Booth and, worst of all, scratching her perfect pinkly enameled pink nails down his back. The scenario played in her head time and again in numerous variations. He was entitled to a personal life. Rationally speaking. Humanly speaking. After all, he was a man and a man had needs, but... she had punched her pillow at every one of those buts. She had taken too long to make up her mind, that's what it was. And now she had nothing left to do but to sit and watch him date and kiss and love and marry and have lots of little blond children with that blond... thing. She had trained herself to obliterate the word _cow_ when thinking about Agent Perotta. She did not want it coming out in public. Composure and decency at all times. And now she was a pin up for a fifties novella... There was no justice in the world.

By noon, Booth had plucked up the time and the courage to head to the Jeffersonian. He wasn't really aware of doing it until Angela cut him off a few yards before Brennan's office.

"Were you hiding from us Booth?" It was said with a smile that did little to hide the probing. Brennan had come in sad like a puppy that had been punished for peeing on the best carpet of the house. Clearly, Mr. Hot Stuff had to have something to do with it. He was the only one to hold such power over Brennan.

"Of course not... I was just... distracted. Yep, I was distracted." Angela propped her hand on her hip, a clear sign she was waiting for an explanation. But the thought occurred to her that demanding one would give away Brennan's state of mind. And thinking back to their conversation on the previous afternoon it would be too much of a betrayal, letting him in easy on secret that had taken her friend so much too keep. Deliberately, she relaxed her stance, just as Hodgins and Brennan walked out of her office. And as Brennan greeted Booth with a light _Hi Booth, what are you doing here_ followed by an expectant _do we have a case_, Angela was forced to admit that Brennan had the hide-your-feelings motions down to a fine art. She had never seen through it. And it shamed her.

"No... I just came by to take you to lunch. I'm hungry!" The smile played easy on his handsome features and he swayed lightly on his heels. God, the guy knew how to ooze charm. She took a quick sideways look at Brennan who smiled and shook her head in a yes.

"I just need 10 minutes to finish something with Hodgins and I'm ready" And her words from the previous night echoed in Angela's mind. _The next best thing_.

Brennan and Hodgins made their way towards the platform and after a brief hesitation, Angela and Booth followed in their trail. Brennan was busy explaining something for Booth's benefit about what was occupying the central table in the platform when Booth's phone rang.

"Booth"

They all heard it and they all recognized the voice. Agent Peyton Perotta. When he hung up, the small group was silently expectant.

"Gotta go... Got a body." Booth hesitated a fraction of a second and Brennan interpreted it as her cue to pick up her gear and follow. Though in her mind an alarm bell was going off. Didn't he usually say _we got a body? We've gotta go?_

"Let's go then. We'll grab lunch later."

"No, Bones. Not _we_ got a body, _I'_ve got a body_. _Sorry about lunch. How about dinner? Or tomorrow if you're busy". Brennan was frazzled, and Angela noticed only because her own blood was boiling with anger at the sugar lump Booth had thrown after letting her friend down. A protection instinct almost took over her as she planned a ritualistic murder where Booth would suffer. But she knew Brennan well and that anything she might say or do would be interpreted as pity which was not welcome. So she bit her tongue and, knowing that Brennan would no longer crave lunch, walked away slowly to her office and ordered from the Japanese place she had discovered a few years before- and that never failed to get her in a good mood.

When the food arrived, she summoned Hodgins, Cam and Brennan to her office knowing that Brennan would not dare to refuse lunch when she had said in front of everyone there that she was about to leave with Booth for that very same purpose.

*****

Booth approached the crime scene with the siren blaring. He knew that he would get a slap on the wrist for that. But he had left the Jeffersonian, once more, laden with guilt. It seemed he had his foot permanently stuck in his mouth all the way down to his throat these days. When he jumped out of the SUV, he walked to the passenger's side to open the door and it took him more than a second to realize it was empty. He was not used to that. Or to silent car rides to a crime scene.

Agent Perotta walked out of a crowd of agents shielding the scene from morbid on lookers and greedy reporters. Further down, another bunch of people congregated around a vehicle. The crime scene unit had cordoned off the area, but the vultures were circling avidly. What was it with people and the appetite for the misery of others? She approached him with a notebook with her field notes in her hand.

"Sorry to call you in on this, but dispatch advised you were closest."

"It's OK. What do we have here?"

"A mess?" There was a slight smile on her pretty face. "Two vics, male and female. Female has the face bashed in. Nearly unrecognizable. The male is missing the back of his head. Like an empty football. Crime scene guys say it was a baseball bat. But from that mess? I wouldn't know..." They walked side by side towards the male victim, the one closest. It was obvious to Booth that he had been dead for quite some time. He was completely rigid and when the crime scene unit moved the corpse to observe the remains, it was like moving a doll, the arms permanently held as if to shield his head, the blood like a painting on his face frozen in a mask of terror. Booth wondered if the mortician would be able to give him a more serene expression before giving him back to his family. No one should have to see a loved one like that.

All in all, it was an exhausting exercise to attend a crime scene. Far more so than doing a street sweep as in his rookie days when he had come across that particular detail, of going door to door to ask questions. So, after hours of standing over a dead couple on a freezing February afternoon, he accepted Agent Perotta's offer of a cup of coffee gladly.

They sat at the counter in the diner, silently. There had been attempts on both parts to initiate a conversation, to keep it going, but two dead bodies in a lover's lane on a beautiful sunny day had a way of shortening the ability for conversation. It was a relief to sit with someone who understood that some moments only silence would do, that two victims would deserve that from those assigned to stand for them in justice.

It was the end of the day and the burger and fries were getting cold in front of him. There was something off with whole scene on Booth's mind, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The burger was as tasty as ever, juicy and covered in cheese, the fries were golden and with just the right amount of salt. A cholesterol time bomb, Bones had said. He had sneered at her comment. Especially when she surreptitiously took a couple every two minutes or so. He had her rhythm pegged. A bite of her salad, a couple of fries, a bite of her salad, a couple of fries, a slap on the wrist from him.. Though she nearly always managed not to drop them, as if she knew his rhythm as well.

He looked sideways. Agent Peyton Perotta, not one to steal his fries, munched silently on her salad. She was a good agent, and actually... well, nice. Pleasant. Feminine. And she was so checking him out. It gave his ego a good boost to know that. He was, after all, only a man. So why did it bother him that she did not steal fries from him, that she did not explain what had happened to the victims in that way that spurred him on to get the perp?

*****

Outside the diner, Temperance Brennan, famous forensic anthropologist, literary sensation of the decade looked on, her knees turning to mulch that did little to keep her standing and her throat closed in a knot that wouldn't loosen.

**AN: Thank you to Mickey Boggs for her revising skills. You have no idea how much appreciated they are!**

**Jane**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: As ever, thank you to Mickey Boggs for being such a great help with this chapter.**

**Note number two (because author's notes are like cherries) I have upped the rating on this story- mostly because things are getting a bit out of hand with language and the violence. So while I'm at it, these may not be the only things escalating. **

**Also, thank you to those of you still with me on this story. Thank you for reading and commenting. It means a lot when you chose to press the button at the end of the text and let me know what you think. It really does.**

**Jane**

***************

7.

Brennan stood still in the middle of the street unsure whether to come or go. She wanted nothing better than to walk in on him and screw up his little date with Miss Congeniality, Miss Always Says the Right Thing. She wanted nothing better than to interrupt his stupid little date and break as many dishes as she could find on Agent Perotta's head. Or better still: his head. And then beat the crap out of him just for good measure. Just because he had asked her out for dinner and then forgot all about her as soon as busty little Perotta showed up.

It wasn't really Perotta's fault. It was her own. All her own. She had waited too long. She had known that Booth felt something a bit more than partnerly affection. But his line, his stupid, stupid line fed all of her old self doubts, her small pockets of self hatred, her fears until they had taken over her and her actions. She had waited too long. Where was the Temperance Brennan who had trekked the Himalaya, faced drug lords in Colombia and the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia? She should have kissed him. She should have had the guts to tell him to stuff his ridiculous line somewhere where the sun doesn't shine and kissed him. If she had, he wouldn't be now sitting with Agent Perotta's blond hair, and Agent Perotta's pink lipstick and Agent Perotta's nicely polished nails and her pink sweater and, she was absolutely sure, tiny little feet and pleasant laughter, sharing with her a dinner that he had promised her, that rightfully belonged to her.

A stitch in time, wasn't it? Or a kiss.

Temperance Brennan walked home. Alone.

*****

She was busy nursing her own sentimental wounds when her phone rang. She took one look at the caller ID. Booth. She decided, though her throat closed up on her, that she was not going to take the call. She did not want to make him excuse himself for not going to dinner with her. So she tossed a cushion on the phone to drown out the sound and avoid temptation at the insistent ring. And she should have known better. She should have known that he would just use the spare she had given him for emergencies and let himself in when she did not answer. She should have known. It knocked the wind out of her when he barged into her kitchen unannounced.

"Bones, are you OK?" He walked straight to her as in her haste she banged her head against one of the kitchen units.

"Well, I was before" came the muffled reply as she held on to her head.

"Let me see that" He said with some impatience as he tried to pull her into a stool.

"No! I'm OK, just..." But the words were dying out as he held her head steady and looked for any signs of blood where she had hit the furniture.

"Just what, Bones? Leave you here to die with a concussion?"

"Oh, you are so dramatic Booth. I hit my head, that's all. Now stop! You're making me dizzy." And she walked to the freezer to get some ice that she wrapped in a cloth and applied to her throbbing head under his intense gaze. "And what are you doing here? I thought _YOU_ had a case..."

"Bones, are you still upset about that?" No reply came from her. "You _ARE_ still upset about that... well, it's not like I'm cheating on you or anything" There was an awkward silence for a second that seemed to stretch for an eternity while she considered that yes, that was exactly what he was doing and he thought that it felt exactly like that, like he was sneaking out behind her back. Booth recovered first.

"Anyway, you told me you'd make me snickerdoodles for dinner." He flashed her his charm smile.  
"Didn't you have dinner already?" She bit her bottom lip at the indiscretion she had nearly let out. "It's late and I don't want to cook now"

"Well, it's a good thing I brought you food, then. Is that any way to show gratitude?" She wanted to stay mad. Mad was safe. She failed.

"What did you bring?" she mumbled through stubborn, defensively gritted teeth, shadows of a smile starting to play around her mouth.

"Do I get snickerdoodles or not?"

*********

The shadows moved with the southern wind in the near absolute darkness of the moonless night. The solid baseball bat taped impatiently against the loose soil of the flower bed. _Thud, thump, thud, thump_, waiting, almost patiently. The night moved, giving way to the shaft of light of the headlights of a car. The bat stopped its thud thumping, quieted down in eager anticipation. And when the windshield fogged up, the hand that held the bat knew that it was time, that satisfaction was there to be had.

********

Being young and in love- two things you take for granted. A girl- always average, until she fell in love with the right guy, kissed her boyfriend, grateful for the privacy of the night. It was hell to share a room and an apartment. No chance at all of stealing a few minutes of intimacy. And when you are young there are needs that are pressing, demanding. Vital.

The man sitting next to her was proud of two things in his life- his car- that he had worked his fingers to the bone for- and the girl sitting next to him. Driving that car and having that girl in his arm made him special, happy. Alive for the first time in his life.

When the knock on the window of the passenger's side came, he was more annoyed than scared. Public park- federal park, what could go wrong? Then it occurred to him that if it was a cop on duty, he could potentially face a fine- which was more than he could afford. But the window was steamy, the warmth from inside contrasting with the winter still outside, and he couldn't see anything. The pretty girl with the pretty smile and the flushed cheeks opened the window and her face was hit by a baseball bat, a shiny, polished baseball that was covered in blood the moment the impact transformed into reaction and her head lunged forward to hit the dashboard. He thought, vaguely, that he wished he had an airbag. Her sweater, her lovely white sweater that clung to her form was splattered with red, blooming with red like a bad video game.

He looked at the baseball bat, propped happily against a shoulder making its way through to his side and he knew then that it was the end. He looked straight into a pair of blue eyes- ice cold, small in a face twisted by a joy he had never seen in his whole life. He had always wondered if he would be brave when death came for him. He lowered the window and waited for the final blow, wondering how it would feel, to know he was taking his last breath.

***********

Orgasms could be measured like earthquakes. All those literary quacks were right in doing it. There were the point 1 in the scale, nothing more than a silent_ ooh_, a slight shiver, and there were the earth shattering, building levelers, tsunami raisers of orgasms. This was about a 4 out of 10. Not bad for a mid-week, but the weekend would have to be better.

The boy had stayed in his seat, opened the window for him, for Christ sake! What the hell was that all about? Not even a mad dash trying to make a run for it. He liked it when they ran. He liked hearing their little hearts straining to pump more blood, to give more speed. The bat had still plunged forward, had still done its job, but its shine had been slightly tarnished by the indifference to death, to him, to his job in life, his mission. His breath hitched in anger.

He polished the bat in a caress like movement. _We'll do it better next time, baby, I promise_.

****************

Brennan opened the door before he even rang the bell. She had heard Booth's springy steps up the stairs. He never took the elevator. Man of action. He gave her a radiant smile.

"Trade you coffee for the rest of the snickerdoodles" and he handed her the paper cup already making his way towards the kitchen and the cupboard he knew she had stored the snickerdoodles in.

"Fine, help yourself. I'll be in my room getting dressed." She tried to sound annoyed. He opened the plastic container and popped a snickerdoodle in his mouth. Ah, the simple pleasures of life. After a moment hesitation, he picked up a small plate and put three of the little cookies on it and followed Brennan to her room. He knocked but opened the door in a near simultaneous movement getting an eyeful of her bare back as she shrugged out of her pajama top.

Momentarily stunned into stillness, he was brought back by her indignant _Booth_ that always snapped him back into action.

"Sorry, Bones, I brought you some uh... snickerdoodles. You should have some, these are great, you know... very soft". He would have plowed on, his mind stuck on a loop like a scratched record. But his tongue stuck to his suddenly dried mouth as she turned to him, covered only in the pajama top now held in her hands and covering only her breasts- barely.

"Oh, well, thank you..." She looked around for a place for the plate. She pointed at the bedside table where her coffee was already waiting. "You can put it there, please"

Booth considered his options. To do as she asked, he would have to get past her- near naked as she was- through the not nearly wide enough space between her bed and the wall. He looked at the plate at the end of his outstretched arm pointedly, willing her to take the plate and save him from himself. Brennan responded with a glance of her own, to her own breasts and the pajamas that covered her. Booth swallowed hard.

"It'll wait for you in the kitchen... you'll leave crumbs here, anyway..." And he closed he door behind him, trying hard not to run.

She made into the kitchen barely five minutes after his embarrassing march into her bedroom, fully dressed, hair, accessories and perfume all in beautiful, perfect order. It took him as much time and he was sure he had much less to worry about- appearance wise- than she did. He was impressed by her efficiency.

"Where are my snickerdoodles?" He handed her the plate silently. She sat next to him in the sofa and relaxed with her coffee in hand.

"How's Jared?"

"In trouble, Bones... In a whole lot of trouble..."

"What's wrong this time?"  
"Court Martial, Bones." That she did not expect. She had thought about another DUI or assault, but not that. And then she knew it, in her heart she knew Booth would blame her for that. His precious little brother was in trouble for taking the steps to help free him from the Gravedigger, but it had been she who had asked, well, bullied Booth's little brother into helping. And she had forgotten all about him as soon as she had Booth safely in the helicopter. Booth was never going to forgive her for that if he found out. _When_ he found out, she corrected herself. Not in a million years.

To give herself time, she did something out of character: She switched on the TV. CNN came up with a live broadcast. The reporter was standing in a park, beautifully illuminated by the morning light. With a sense of urgency, the young woman reported on a crazed and frenzied attack on its unsuspecting victims, a man and a woman that had been found in their car, fatal wounds to the face. Booth froze, then swore loudly.

"Shit! Those freakin' vultures..." His tirade was halted by the insistent ringing of his cell.

"Yeah, I saw it on the news." Brennan knew immediately who it was on the other line. She looked at the screen, than at Booth and decided she was going wherever he was going. "Yeah, I'm on my way"

He slipped the phone into his pocket and grabbed his things, leaving the coffee cup on the table.

"I'm sorry Bones. Gotta go. Two more bodies. That son of a bitch!"

"Let's go, I'm ready" He turned on his heels" It took him nearly two seconds to process the reply. She was not going anywhere. That was not_ their_ case. It was _his_ case.

"No!"

"Booth, I can help. Let me help, please" He was going to say no. But then he saw the pleading eyes.

"Fine!" And he walked out the door, his stride showing he was not happy with the turn of events. "But you stay back. This is Perotta's case, Bones, not ours."

"Fine". It was not so much a reply as a hiss. And it was worrying. He was going to have to keep an eye on Bones.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Writing a story is a happy moment when things flow, a bit of a stress when things don't flow. But it is always comfortable when someone else reads through it and makes sure that what you wanted to say is indeed what you are saying and that the glitches that make reading hard- like the spelling or sentences that do not work- are corrected and that makes reading a more pleasurable experience. This is where Mickeyboggs comes in with her superior proof reading. Thank you, MickeyBoogs.**

8.

Brennan nearly relaxed on the way to the crime scene. Booth drove fast, furious and with the lights and siren on. She loved those rides when with each turn the G force would increase inside the car and she would have to grab on for dear life. She would never admit to it but it was like riding an extreme roller coaster- without the safety of the tracks. It made her blood pump deliciously faster, an adrenaline rush that was welcome every time. She nearly jumped out of the car without waiting for Booth, eager to start her analysis of the crime scene.

And then she saw it, the glint of gold of Agent Perotta's pretty blond hair in the morning sunshine. It instantly dampened her mood. Still, she was game. She took her trusted latex gloves from her pocket and an elastic band to collect her hair in an untidy pony tale. She wondered briefly if Booth liked long hair or if he had no preference. How would she look with longer hair? She walked behind Booth who made his way towards Agent Perotta. He signaled to the helicopters of the TV crews avidly filming the pretty park, the ground crews barely held back by uniformed cops.

"Freakin' vultures. How did they get wind of this?"

"Good morning to you too, Agent Booth" Perotta greeted him, a charming smile brightening up the pleasant face. "And to answer you question: a woman walking a dog found the first vic. The first call she made was CNN. Then she called the beat cops. And they called us. So here we are, another fine mess in our hands and Mr. and Mrs. Everybody watching at home. So, how was your evening?"

Booth grunted something to the effect of a reply, busy pushing aside a more enterprising member of the press carrying a camera and a microphone.

"C'mon, Bones, don't stay behind!" It was easier said than done as more and more reporters headed towards them attracted like flies to the new players who had arrived on scene. Perotta finally spared Brennan a look.

"And look, Agent Booth, you brought your girlfriend to work with you!" Angela, Brennan thought later, would have recognized the acid remark as a trap. She did not. And she wanted to believe that neither did Booth as they simultaneously replied:

"She's not my girlfriend"  
"I'm not his girlfriend"

Agent Perotta failed at hiding the pleased smile that bloomed in her face.

"Ok, here we are, this time, both vics are in the car, killed on the spot. Though I don't really know how, if it is the same guy, you can swing a bat at someone inside a car. Look, he did it through the window."  
"Easy," Brennan interrupted. "He did not _swing_. He _plunged_ the bat. Like you would a pool cue." Her arms mimicked the gesture for Booth and Perotta's benefit.

"Really?" It was said in a tone meant to silence Brennan.

"Surely you see that!" Brennan was starting to get impatient. "Can I examine the scene now? There's already too many people around, too many people contaminating the crime scene." She pulled on her latex gloves under Agent Perotta's intense stare.

"You know, Dr. Brennan, The FBI does have its own crime scene unit who have already conducted an examination- a _thorough _examination- of the crime scene." She spat, mimicking Brennan's definitive tone. Really, your expertise is probably needed elsewhere and you should not be wasting your precious time with this case." Brennan was lost for words. She looked around for some support from Booth. He usually defended her when someone she had never worked with failed to show her respect. But he was busy observing the bodies still in the car, concentrating on something on the passenger's side of the car. He walked around it, observing, studying, all cop. Brennan could see his mind combing through the fine details, the possible scenarios playing out in his mind. Wasn't he going to defend her?

"Booth" She called out, indignation ripe in her voice. He spared her a glance where she could read a question mark. She pointedly looked at Agent Perotta. The expected support was not forthcoming. Fine, she'd handle the matter herself.

"Well, there is a reason why I'm called out with Booth and that is that I am the best in my field, Agent Perotta."

"Dr. Brennan", the female agent began, full of show-patience, as if she were addressing a petulant child, "I'm sure you are quite good at what you do. But, if I may, I'll remind you that the FBI has survived well over a century investigating and bringing to justice criminals of all sorts w_ithout_ your expertise. The crime scene has been analyzed and processed, all possible knowledge of it has been gathered, now this is the part where _I_ am good at. This is what_ Agent Booth and I_ are good at and that's why we are called to a crime scene." There was a definitive tone in her voice that Brennan did not like. She knew that logic was on the woman's side and she had to bow to logic. But it still smarted like a slap, that exclusion created by the _Agent Booth and I_ remark. More so because Booth did not extend her, even then, the courtesy of taking her side. He just kept on looking at the car and the bodies inside. And if she didn't know him any better, she would have said he was avoiding participating in the confrontation.

Brennan removed her latex gloves with a snap of the material echoing her mood and turned to Booth.

"I don't like her!"

"Just because she's right, Bones. You know these guys are good. Let them do their job."

"Well, I'm certain I can tell you more about this" and she encompassed the scene with a movement of her arm, "than they can. And it is important."

"Sometimes, Bones, the forensics is only a smaller part of the investigation... The grunt work, the cop work, the asking and probing and guessing and the gut feeling... that will be what brings the killer down."

"But Booth, we work together!"

"Not on this one, Bones, I'm sorry. Besides, I though you liked your corpses a little bit less meaty..." Brennan pouted a little- which, Booth decided, was adorable- though he knew it would be misguided to admit to have paid attention to it.

"And I don't like her because she was following me the other day and because-"

"Following you?"

"Yes, after the Gravedigger had taken you. She wanted to arrest Hodgins and me." His face twisted but he did not comment. He guided her towards the blond Agent, his hand at the small of her back, irradiating warmth.

"Agent Perotta" He called out. Brennan saw her trotting happily, the long blond hair bobbing merrily, a perfect frame for a perfect face, smiling candidly at him. Only him. "If the CS Unit is done here, is there any particular reason why the bodies are still on public display?" His tone was affable, but the expression on his face had cooled by several degrees. Agent Perotta felt the difference immediately.

"I was waiting for your impressions, Agent Booth. A matter of professional courtesy, some would say."

"Screw that! You are the primary investigator on this, you completed your analysis and the scene has been photographed. These people have family and they deserve privacy and compassion."

_Ah, ah!_ Brennan smiled inwardly, suddenly feeling better, almost vindicated.

"C'mon, Bones. Agent Perotta, I'll follow up with the CS Unit report."

"Right. I'll have it emailed to you as soon as..."

"You do that. Thank you" His hand at the small of Brennan's back directed her towards the car, guiding her through the sea of camera crews, some of whom had recognized her as Dr. Temperance Brennan, the New York Times best selling author and were shouting for snippets of information about her participation on the case.

"I really don't like her, Booth" She confided, close to his ear.

"Well," he smiled, "you need to get over it." And with that remark, the cloud she had been walking on since the dressing down of Agent Perotta dissolved, leaving just a somewhat bitter taste in her mouth.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: With thanks to Mickeyboggs who patiently revises and comments on this story.**

9.

"All I'm saying, Booth, is that I think the two victims were planning to engage in sexual intercourse in that car."

"OK, Bones, first of all, you are not getting involved in this." Brennan folded her arms across her chest, clearly feeling aggravated at the comment. Booth decided not to pay attention. "Second... that's pretty obvious. Who the hell goes to a park- at night- as a couple- to do anything else?"

"Could have been a business transaction..." Booth snorted.

"Not likely. Not unless she was a hooker. Which-" he raised his finger to silence her interruption, "I do not see as likely." She leaned her chin against her closed fist and looked out of the window at the road rolling by. He took a deep breath. A sulking Bones. Man, never a break! "OK, what makes you say that?"

"The male victim was aroused"

"Bones, he was dead..." She gave him a near-exasperated look.

"Yes, Booth, but when he died, he was aroused, and as _rigor mortis_ settled in, and because of a variety of factors- the low temperature, the fact that he was sitting- the state of arousal was preserved."

"So what does that tell us that I didn't know before?"

"Well, I don't know what you knew before, because you did not share it with me, but it tells you that if he was not the first victim- and I don't think he was, because of the blood splatter pattern, it was a quick succession between the time of death of the female victim and that of the male and that the first impact killed him instantly, thus implying, a great deal of force- as the most vulnerable part of the skull is the occipital bone, not the frontal bone."

"OK, so the killer was in a hurry"

"That's jumping to a conclusion, which I'm not comfortable with. But if we got Hodgins to analyze the car and the remains, I'm very sure that he could tell us if the killer took his time to clear up any traces of himself that he might have left behind. That would answer your question of the hurry."  
"Bones, it's not our case. You and the Jeffersonian are not involved."

"I only told you my preliminary findings. Clearly, I will not be working the case further, but I though I should share with you what I was able to ascertain. Professional courtesy, as Agent Perotta would say." _Man! Never a break! _The thought throbbed through Booth's mind like a bad headache.

"So they were there to make out, huh, Bones? Whatever happened to a nice romantic bed, a bedroom..."

"Why, because sex is only good in bed?"

"That's not what I said"  
"So what did you say?"

Booth sighed heavily.

"I said that it is far more romantic to take your time, to have your own space, and privacy..."

"Hum... I acknowledge that, but I have to say that, sometimes, the excitement lies in the danger, not in the safety of a bed..."

"The operative word being _sometimes_" right, Bones?"

"Of course...Though from the evidence, I have no way of knowing if this was the _sometimes time_ or the _often times _kind of thing..."

"Whichever way it played out, it just goes to show that love hurts, huh, Bones?" He was met a blank, studious gaze.

"I don't think it's love that hurts, but third parties"

"That was deep Bones..."  
"You're making fun of me..."  
"No... Cross my heart... I just didn't think about it. It was more meant like a joke... you know the song, right? _Huh, huh, love hurts..._? Like that..." He looked at her, trying to access the likelihood of his stupid apology having been accepted. The fact that she was silent was telling. _Crap, foot in the mouth all over again._.. what was it with him these days- and her? Where was the easy companionship they used to have about everything, especially on her part?

"I just meant that I don't think that love hurts anything. I think it is, generally.... quite pleasant... it's what's outside the couple that causes the pain..." And she retreated back into silence, chin propped on her hand, silently observing the road and the white markings on it with the same intensity she devoted to the bones in the lab. _Uh?_ Was the only thought on Booth's mind from that moment onwards, an echo that only subsided around 4 am when he succumbed to exhaustion.

"Is it true what we saw on the news?" Angela came rushing down the steps of the platform to catch up with Booth who had just walked in with a very broody Brennan. Angela studied her for a minute, wasting no time and drawing accurate impressions- that Booth had put his foot in it yet again.  
"What did you see on the news, Angela?" Booth seemed to be in a hurry to leave the Jeffersonian and, even more telling, seemed ill at ease. He was never ill at ease, except if he was sitting with a group of women discussing their period or the pill and that was exactly how he seemed to be feeling. Angela composed herself.

"Second hit, couples making out in parks, always with a baseball bat..."  
"Congruent with a baseball bat.... we have no way of knowing if it is or not. We are not on the case, Angela" Brennan corrected, her voice sad.

"Angela, I know you guys are used to participating in everything, but this case is not what you do. We have no trouble identifying the victims, which is the reason why you're called. I mean, they had ID on them... This case stays within the Bureau, we are not subcontracting..." Brennan shrunk visibly, just like she had been slapped. Angela could see her train of thought as clearly as it had been written above her head in red neon lights: _subcontract, someone he uses when they need it_. Angela felt it herself, acutely.

"Well, it sounds like a serial one. And I was trolling the net a bit and I found a few other bits and pieces that fit this guy's MO..."

Booth grunted, more than answered.

"And?"

"And I can tell you that the guy is working clockwise across the parks in the periphery of DC. Always federal land too. The other cases fell under your radar as local uniforms got the cases, but yeah, I'll bet you my bottom dollar that it is the same guy." Another grunt. "Well, aren't you cheerful today! When you feel more congenial you can come to my office and I'll show you a little map Hodgins and I came up with... you know, just in case you welcome some input from your regular team. The ones that are like family..." And one more grunt. Booth kept his eyes averted from both Angela and Brennan. Angela prodded a bit more while Brennan made herself scarce and headed into her office. "The ones that always deliver- even when it's about saving your tight ass from maniac murderers with no sense of morality..."

"Angela, knock it off, already. I get your point, but what do you want me to do... It's not like we're glued at the hip..." Angela looked over her shoulder in Brennan's office direction and, deciding it was safe, turned on Booth and in a movement that took him sometime to understand how she'd done it, pressed the agent against one of the metal columns of the lab punctuating each of her words with a finger pointing at his forehead:  
"WHAT- THE- HELL- ARE– YOU- DOING?" Booth was a bit more than alarmed. Angela looked like an irked cat ready to gouge his eyes out.

"What are you talking about?" From the corner of his eye he saw Hodgins and Cam approaching, listening intently.

"Don't you try to play dumb with me, Booth. I like you. I really do, but you know where my loyalties are. And you don't want to find out what I'm capable of doing if you keeping acting like an idiot. Go away, think carefully about what you're doing these days and then decide, but don't think you can have your cake and eat it!" And she walked towards her office where she slammed the door hard enough to have Booth feel it as the slap to his face she would not physically give him.

"What cake???" He looked to Cam and Hodgins for some support, maybe even sympathy. He found none. Only Hodgins' probing eyes and Cam's reproaching ones.

"You know, Seeley, for someone so perceptive, you're being incredibly dim..." And she walked away, her dangerously high heels marking the rhythm of her disapproval.

"Don't call me Seeley..." He still called out to her, hoping for the old, comforting 'Don't call me Camille' retort. It did not come. "Hey Bug Man, what the hell is this all about? Is every single one of these females PMSing at the same time?"

"Dude..." Hodgins nodded disapprovingly, "man up already... you're skirting dangerously close to being a bastard..."

"Why? I mean, can someone- and I can't believe I'm about to say this- _rationally_ explain to me what the hell is happening?" Hodgins motioned Booth to an out of the way door frame.

"I'm going to tell you the same as Angela: you know where my loyalties are. But I'll tell you one more thing for your benefit... We're slightly dysfunctional but we're still a family here. And if you walk in with one of us- say a sister- who is looking kicked-puppy pitiful you should expect the rest of the family- the brothers, the sisters, and possibly all other relatives to gang up around her and give you hell for it. We've been your people, as much as Dr B's for the last four years. But make no mistake: she is ours and if it comes a time when someone needs to beat the shit out of you- either as a punishment or as a wake up call, I'll be calling dibs on taking the first hit. Get it?" Hodgins seemed to have grown several inches, almost towering over Booth now. Which, after Angela's maneuver, made twice in a day that he was almost manhandled by two – relatively speaking- squint squirts. And he had more questions now than answers. As Hodgins walked away, Booth was torn between the need put some distance between himself and the lab and the need to check on Brennan. She did not throw hissy fits for no reason but his mind refused to acknowledge what his gut kept on repeating to him: _bastard, bastard, bastard_.

He decided to walk out, to mull things over, to give himself some time to digest the frogs he had just swallowed, fed to him by Angela and Hodgins.

***********

He thought about paying a visit to Sweets. Maybe ask him for some insight on Bones and what was eating at her lately, all moody and... fragile. That was not his Bones. His Bones kicked ass, hell, she kicked _his _ass when he stepped out of line. His Bones went after what she wanted. Which was a truth written in stone. If it weren't, he might even have thought that she might, in time, come to want him nearly as much as he wanted her. If only she had given him a sign. Which begged the question: if she didn't go after him that was, obviously, because she didn't want him... _Right?_ After all, she had slept in his bed, with no underwear, when he was at his most... vulnerable and had done nothing, made not a single movement towards him. Hadn't she been the one to initiate things with Sully when he had taken too long to make up his mind on how fast to go with her? Then why oh why had he just been cornered at the lab by Angela- whom he knew had always kept her fingers crossed for Bones to give him an opening? Hey, it's not like he was totally stupid or oblivious to the many conversations between the two women he had interrupted. And Hodgins, whom he had always maintained a balance of respect and mutual admiration with... what was that all about?

Booth considered himself a good character reader- motives, dreams, fears, thoughts, everything about nearly everybody. There had been a couple of things he hadn't seen coming- like Rebecca's reaction to his marriage proposal- but almost nothing of what people did ever surprised him anymore. So what was the deal with Bones and, by extension, her gang? What had changed that the woman he had once read like an open book now needed a whole book of instructions?

He decided to give up on the Sweets visit idea. Some things should be kept out of Sweets' office and his twisted inner workings.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

Instead of Sweet's office, Seeley Booth made his way to visit another Booth: Jared. Being with the Bureau carried no weight around these parts of the world so his badge carried him to the gate and over only as a piece of identification. But and though they were all Squids- and God knew that Seeley Booth would never see the attraction of being on a boat for months on end, let alone fighting a war from it- there were friends there. Hell, he knew people everywhere, but there was a particular childhood friend he decided to call upon as a facilitator for a visit. He was not let down. After a phone call, Seeley Booth reported at the main gate and dropped a name from his past and was shown to the visiting area.

Jared was already waiting there, the family trademark cocky smile in place on the handsome features he knew as well as his own.

"Little brother..." Booth produced two beers, one out of each pocket of his suit jacket and tossed one to the man sitting across the table.

"Big brother... always watching me..." There was an easy smile when he said it, no trace of the bitterness that usually seasoned it marring the handsome face.

"Watching out for you... not watching you..." Booth opened his beer and drank from it, interested in the flavor.

"Isn't it the same thing?" Jared held the bottle to his lips, a fraction of a second hesitation, waiting for a reply.

"Nuh..."

"Seel... what's wrong? Besides the fact that your favorite brother is in here, I mean..." Jared leaned forward, genuine interest in what Booth had to say. Having Temperance telling him off for not deserving his brother had opened the floodgates for Jared and he found himself inordinately thinking and re-thinking back over the years and occasions where Seeley had made the bogeyman – in whatever shape or form it came at him- go away. Nearly always without a word of acknowledgment. And he felt bad about it. Which was news to him as he thought of himself as a good guy- all in all. Not the kind of man that costs his brother his hour of glory- well and hard worked for- without so much a thank you or the intention to never do it again. No, he knew he was spoiled, but he had never been one of the bad guys. Temperance had opened his eyes to the man his brother was- and that he, Jared, failed miserably at being. So when he saw that whatever it was in Seeley's eyes – he was not quite sure what to call it- he felt a compulsion to help, or, at least, to listen. And pray that he could at least say the right thing – least once in his life. He had never been as good as Seel at just knowing what was going on, at saying the right thing. That was Seeley's special talent, as his was charming his way around life, clowning around to make people smile.

"Why are you here, Jared?"

"Because I was arrested. I thought of all people you'd know how it works... you arrest someone, they stay behind bars..."

"Don't play with me, boy!" Booth teased, imitating Father Daniels from their childhood. "What did you do?" Booth's smile had faded somewhat.

"Come on Seel, that's not why you're here... You've asked that before and did not get a reply. You know better than asking again. So, you're just trying to gain time. What's on your mind? Why are your panties in a twist"  
"There is nothing twisted in my very manly boxer shorts..."  
"Yeah, right... 'cause who would want to spend the afternoon with the lovely Tempe when you can sit in a green room smelling of sweat with your little brother... wait... is there trouble in paradise? Did you have a fight with the Boneyard Captain or something?"

"Something... I guess... And don't repeat the Boneyard Captain thing in front of Cam." Booth sighed, sat at the table across from his brother and hoped that a little conversation might help him see the big picture, because God knew that he could only see details that he couldn't understand, let alone put together. Booth sighed again as Jared leaned back on his chair that seemed far too small to accommodate his frame. "Bones... she's being weird"

"Weird good or weird bad?"

"Bones is never weird. So weird is bad..."

"Seel... this is not high school, man. Try to hone up those vocabulary skills and, for all that is holy and sacred to you, tell me what weird means..."  
"She's... moody and I don't know... like... fragile. You've seen Bones. She kicks ass everyday... and now I'm afraid every time I open my mouth 'cause she gives me this look like when I broke that vase that Mom used to have, remember? And she just gave me this look like she had lost something precious and I had just broken her heart and it made me feel so bad I just didn't know what to do to make it up to her... and with Bones I feel like I keep on breaking her vase everyday..."  
"Why? What have you been doing to her?"

"What do you mean? I don't do anything to her."

"Seel, try and keep up, will you? Are you sleeping with somebody else besides her? Women just known that... they like to call it a sixth sense, but they always know when you're sleeping with somebody else."

"I'm not sleeping with anyone."  
"Fifty bucks say you mean that literally..."  
"That's none of you business. I meant, I'm not sleeping with Bones"  
"So you're sleeping with somebody else and she doesn't like it."

"I'm not sleeping with somebody else. But there's Perotta and..."  
"Wait... missed a step. Who's Perotta"  
"Agent Peyton Perotta... She's... well, nice. She made me chili and..."  
"Since when do you like chili?"

"Jared! I don't, alright!... But she brought it when I was sick, when she thought I was alone and she's nice to me, she always gives me this smile like her day just got better when she sees me. She likes me..."

"Makes you feel all Booth inside... So you're sleeping with her?"  
"No, I'm not sleeping with her... but you know... I'm considering... thing is... she makes me feel good..."  
"You mean, she doesn't kick your ass, she kisses your ass... I can see the appeal. And I bet you she's blonde..."  
"How do you..."  
"You're not the only one with the intuition in the family, Seel. But let me sum this up: you're not sleeping with Tempe, and you're not sleeping with the blonde babe. So you're not sleeping with anyone? Father Daniels was right- you have the calling, Seel"

"Why do you make it sound so pathetic?"

"Because I'm a man. You want commiseration, you go tell your story to a chick and she'll find it _so swee_t," The two words were squealed, a nearly perfect imitation of a girl, "But for me it's just pathetic. Very unboothish."

"Nothing wrong with being unboothish."

"Only certain things, Seel.

"We're moving away from the point."  
"And what's the point?"  
"Why is she moody and fragile..."  
"Maybe she is PMSing"

"Well, she never gets like that during, before or after. She's always steady and strong and brilliant and...'

"So you even know her cycle... that's actually interesting... you're in love..."

"No... I'm not love with Bones..." Booth's eyes widened, his pupils dilated and a thin shin of sweat pearled on his forehead. He would have recognized it as a textbook lying reaction if he had seen it in one of his suspects. Only there were no mirrors in the visiting room.  
"Yeah... you tell yourself that often enough... just might become true..."

"You know, time to go... I didn't come here for this"  
"Seel, I know you. You're my brother, and I know when you're lying: when you're lying to yourself and when you're lying to others. So give it a rest, I'm not gonna tell. High school is a long, long way away. But man, you always fought for what you wanted, never gave up. And with this woman you're sitting there with your thumbs up your ass and you don't do a damned thing about it."  
"Hey! There is nothing up this ass!" Booth gave his brother a rather pro forma stinky eye. "Besides, there is nothing to do about it. If it were true, which I'm not saying it is" Jared gave him a crooked smile, affection so clear in it that Booth just felt at ease to go on, "but aside the fact the we don't want the same things out of life, she just does not want me. If she did, she would have taken the initiative, because that's Bones, she goes for it, for what she wants... And I don't need Rebecca all over again, you know... been there, done that, got the t-shirt."

"Seel, this may come as a shock to you, but you're an idiot, man, you really are an idiot! And if you don't see it, if you don't get it, well, than that's the most Booth you'll ever be. Or, maybe, it's not that you don't get it, it's that you don't want to, which makes you a chicken shit!" It was said with a smile, an easy smile that softened the words.

"Jared, there are things... people... that you just should stay away from."  
"Why, may I ask?" Booth sighed.

"Because, if it doesn't work, you're left with nothing. And maybe what you have already is good enough that you don't want to risk it."

"Chicken shit!"

"Yeah... Again I ask: why are you here? What have you done?"

"Seel, leave it alone"  
"How can I help if you don't tell me?"

"Because, Seel, there are things that even you can't fix. But in any case, I'm not ashamed of the why I'm here, which for me is a first, so leave it be."

"For now I will. But we'll talk about this again."  
"Then come prepared to discuss Tempe when you come..."

"Chicken Shit."  
"Seel, two words for you: pot, kettle!"

As he stepped into the cool February air, Seeley Booth wanted to be worried about his little brother and what the future held for him if push came to shove. But he found it hard to concentrate and his thoughts drifted over and over again to a certain forensic anthropologist with deep blue eyes, brown silky hair and the capacity to crush his heart into oblivion.

He decided that a beer hat and a soak in the tub would be in order.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Both this chapter and the last come to you with Mickeyboggs' help- though I managed to publish the l;ast chapter without telling you that, which is really not nice of me. Bad, bad Jane!**

**So, without further ado, (funny word, isn't it?) here it is, Chapter 11.**

Chapter 11.

Booth had been feeling restless for the last ten days. There were several reasons for his state of mind and none that he could handle himself. There was the killer on the loose who had not made a move in 10 nights. The CS Unit geeks had not been able to find a single thread for him pull at, not shred of evidence, not even a freaking foot print that he could spend some time analyzing. There was Agent Peyton-busty-blond-Perotta who stopped by his office more often than needed to share information on the case which, he knew, was just nonsense because there was nothing new to be known until the killer attacked again. This also grated at his nerves because he knew two more people would have to die just for the remote possibility that they would have a thread to tug at, a lead to follow. It grated at his nerves because she just made him feel like a man again, instead of a romantic hero in a bad novel of his own creation. Agent Perotta had managed to make him feel like the old Seel who would spot a female and just make a move even if to be rejected, instead of this new Seel who was paralyzed by a pair of blue eyes. And she always gave him that look of adoration that he remembered from high school, when he was a proper alpha male. It made him feel important. Wanted. And he hadn't felt that way in a long, long time, what with Rebecca and Bones in his life.

Then there was that thorn in his thigh, Bones' sad eyes which seemed to be permanent now, even when she tried to be happy and vibrant like she used to be. And failed miserably at it. He wondered briefly that if he found out that someone was messing with her, he'd have to go on a killing spree.

He drank one more glass of milk, the only thing that kept the bile and the acid in his stomach under some semblance of control. Just what he needed: a gastric ulcer. Never a break!

He moved from the self-service bar area into his office, trying to go unnoticed. But he was met by Caroline Julian and Caroline Julian's probing manner and Caroline Julian's none-too-subtle tongue.

"Chér, you look like a dog's breakfast. What's wrong with you? You lost your mojo on me now?" Booth knew there was no point in trying the trademark puppy dog eyes on Ms. Julian- Because she had kids of her own and had seen it all and seen through it, but, mostly, because, on that particular morning, he could not muster it. So he just sighed and drank some more milk against the acid climbing up inside his stomach and successfully making its way towards his mouth in a blaze from hell. What came up was a pained expression and a grunt.

"Oh, Chér... you really need to drag that Dr. Brennan of yours into a dark room and put both of you out of your misery. Look at you, sipping on milk..." Caroline tutted. "This is getting in your way, Chér... if the two of you had been working together you'd have found that twisted son of a spotted cow by now... Get your act together! And look what the cat just dragged in: another one looking like a dog's breakfast..." Booth looked in the same direction as Caroline to find Brennan coming in towards his office, her face composed in a smile that did not make it all the way to her eyes. Caroline tutted again. "Good morning, Chérie. You people get your act together, now you hear, and get me some ass to prosecute. The media is all over this, like jackals at a dead mule. I'll catch up with you later, you hear?" And she gave them one more probing look, making sure both Brennan and Booth knew it was a probing look.

"Well, this is not my case, Ms Julian. The FBI is not... subcontracting on this one. I wish I could help, but..." Caroline moved back a step, put her hand on Brennan's arm and leaned into her, a conspiratorial look on her face.

"I know this is Agent Perotta's case. She is a good agent, sweet girl, gets the job done. Admittedly, not with so much aplomb as you two but still gets it done." She gave the young scientist time to react and was not disappointed. Brennan lowered her eyes and Caroline would swear later that she saw a sharp spark of pain in the young woman's eyes. "But since when are you merely a subcontractor? And since when are you allowing people to push you off cases when you want to be in on them... or people..." She tapped Brennan's hand maternally and walked towards the meeting room where nothing nowhere near as interesting as this was waiting for her genius at sorting the fine messes people got themselves into.

"Are you OK there, Bones?" Booth inhaled her lightly floral perfume and let it soothe his frayed nerves and even dissolve the acid burning in his stomach.

"Yes. You, on the other hand, do not look so good..."  
"It's my stomach... never mind that. What can I do for you?"  
"Well... I came to get you for lunch..."

"It's 10:30 am, Bones..." Brennan blushed violently.

"I know... but I was bored."  
"You were bored..."  
"That's what I said"  
"What, did the world run out of dead bodies for you study?" Brennan almost got up to leave. But Angela was right. She owed it to herself to try.

"I'm not always working, Booth. I can have fun too. And anyway... I also brought a map that Angela and Hodgins compiled for you." And she gave him a disk in a clear plastic wallet. As Booth took it, their fingers met for a second during which, though no sparks flew, neither of them wanted to break that thin, fragile moment of connection. The warmth was circulating free from one to the other and for that second it was like being back to all their best, most contented moments all condensed in the same second. Booth felt his stomach relax and the acid churning in it back down to a manageable level. Brennan felt the muscles in her face relax to the first real, honest to God smile in 10 days. Booth took the disk and removed it from the plastic wallet without breaking eye contact.

"Let's see what the squint squad came up with then" and he slotted the disk into his computer. The file ran without his prompt and right in front of him a simplified map of Washington DC came on screen. As he dragged his mouse through the map, a sequence of photos of crime scenes popped up and faded as he moved through the map. He stopped on the spot marked with a number one. A sequence of crime scene photos began, a recital of violence, blood and contorted body parts. He located number 2 on the map. The sequence of photos began once again, the horror of impending death clearly shown in each of the photos as they showed the victims literally scattered on the blood stained snow, fear permanently etched into their young faces.

Brennan moved to stand behind Booth, staring at the screen as he revealed the information hidden behind each of the numbers. He recognized numbers 3 and 4 from having been there standing over the bodies when the metallic smell of blood was still fresh. Brennan sat on the arm of his chair and Booth inhaled, once more her delicate perfume.

"Angela says he's probably working clockwise through the parks, see?" and her finger drew a circular line between the 4 spots marked on the map. "He started here and he is moving consistently in the same direction with each attack..."  
"Assuming it is the same guy..."  
"Yes. Assuming that. But look at the photos: they are always the same type of injuries. Go back to each of the spots on the map. Angela accessed the pathology reports for each of them-"

"Bones, that's not entirely appropriate..."  
"So? Just don't tell Caroline. Do you want to solve the murders or not?"  
"I want to get this guy. Not just solve a mystery, Bones. But you're right. I'll worry about that later. What with the reports then?"  
"Well, they are always blunt force trauma to the head, always congruent with the shape of a baseball bat, though the first two attacks, and in varying degrees, have shown far more injuries than the latest two."  
"Varying how?"

"Decreasingly. Each attack is more aim-orientated, I'd say. Like the killer is getting more accurate with each kill." Booth contemplated the screen once more and ran through the dates of the attacks again.

"The dates seem to be random. One in October. One in December. Now two within two nights in February... Is Angela sure she's got all the crimes with the same type of attack?"

"Well, Angela is very thorough, you know... "  
"Hum, yes, but there may be cases that did not make it to the press..."  
"She did not look only for press clippings, Booth."  
"No?"

"No. She says she's no amateur."

"Right... Better not say that to Caroline either. I'll worry about that later too." Brennan shrugged. She did not like these little legal intricacies that mostly, allowed bad people to go free.

"And now?"

"Now, I'd be interested in picking Sweets' brain... get him to give us a profile." Booth got up and slipped on his suit jacket. Brennan remained seated, unsure of what to do at that very instance.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" Brennan's inner smile bloomed at the invite and the inclusion of the _we_ in his train of thought. _We_ was so much better than _I_.

Sweets looked from Booth to Brennan and back again.  
"Agent Booth, Dr Brennan... this is not a party trick! You cannot possibly expect me to give you a profile based on photos of the crime scene and forensic reports. I might as well get my tarot cards."  
"If you think you can give us more that way, I'm game, Sweets."  
"That means he's not joking."  
"Thanks, Dr Brennan... I mean... you guys are unbelievable..."

"Is that good or bad?" Brennan turned to Booth with her question.

"I think it's good, Bones."

"No, not really, not today..." Sweets was still shaking his head in disbelief.  
"Than you should be more accurate in you pronouncements, Dr. Sweets." Brennan crossed her arms defensively across her chest.

"Give the guy a break, Bones! Well, Sweets? I'm getting old here!" Sweets sighed deeply, shook his head in negative a few more times- merely for form, he knew, as he could not resist a good puzzle and the how important it made him feel when Booth and Brennan walked in through his door to ask him for a profile. He rose to the occasion.

"Well, from the very, very scarce information we have at this moment, I'd say that there is a pattern in his killing, a method. He has been honing up his craft, gathering knowledge and becoming more and more accurate with each attack. But this is not just a job for him. I think he draws some sort of pleasure from the killing. Maybe even sexual- either a literal pleasure or a surrogate pleasure, but it is pleasurable none the less. The killer is carrying out a job and he is methodical in his approach, though maybe not so much in the time keeping."  
"Do you think this is the kind that hears voices telling him what to do?"

"No, Agent Booth, I don't. There is really no way of proving that, but I think it is a conscious thought. Maybe he is a collector..."  
"Collector?" Brennan repeated.

"Hum... yes. I think this is some sort of collector. Look, all the victims are different. Older, younger, richer or poorer, blonds, brunettes, and always different locations. There is a method in the killing. But I'm afraid to say that the method is opting for variety."

"Is that bad, Booth?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan, it is" Sweets spoke before a pensive Booth. "It means that we have no way of predicting anything about his behavior. The dates of the attacks seem to have no logic pattern and the demographics of the victims either. We don't even have anyway of knowing if he studies the victims before the hit or not..."  
"I'd bet he doesn't study them. I'd say he looks at them and makes up his mind. Choose on the spot the most attractive prey.."  
"Maybe to suit his mood... Yes, it's possible."

"So this is a totally random choice: dates, victims... How are you going to catch him, Booth?" Brennan's question remained unanswered.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note: With thank yous aplenty to Mikeyboggs for her help with this chapter. and a wink to Tails down under for always making smile.**

**Jane  
**

Chapter 12

The noise of the diner yelled_ lunch time_. There were orders shouted at the kitchen staff and bells ringing, signaling one more order ready to go. Brennan sipped on her orange juice, trying hard not to jump up and down in her seat. Excitement coursed through her veins as she heard the wheels turning in Booth's head and spell _stake out_. There would be the sitting in the car- slightly cold, because it was early March and there was still ice in the air- and there would be coffee and that incredible rush of adrenaline she never felt anywhere else but out of the lab and working with him. He indulged her sometimes, she knew it. He gave her his clutch piece when they had to chase someone or walk into buildings, but she had always felt safe- just because he was walking in front of her. Things might have been shaky for a while there but they seemed to get back on track. They were back, Booth and Brennan, the dynamic duo, the press called them. And this would be one more of those glorious occasions where they would catch the bad guy and celebrate with a drink afterwards, letting the adrenaline rush subside and the calm return. Maybe there would be even a late dinner at her place- some coupon-accepting Thai restaurant take away- and Booth would sleep on the couch because he was too tired to go home and she would watch him sleep as she had done so many times and...

"Bones!" Brennan made to sip more of her orange juice but no matter how much she tilted the glass, no more liquid ran into her mouth to quench that thirst and calm the heat that was rising from her core. She looked at the glass where only the bits of orange clinging to rim showed that it had been full. "Bones?" His voice sounded muffled, as if coming far, far away and there was worry in his voice now. Good. Worry was good. "You know that, right?"

"Right..." She tried to focus on him, bring herself back from that spaced out moment.

"It's too dangerous." Huh? What was too dangerous?

"Booth..."  
"So that settles it. Right?"

"What settles what?'

"I thought you agreed..." Yep, there it was, the trade mark smile that made her do exactly what he wanted her to do. Most of the time, anyway.

"Agreed to what?"

"That I can't take you out on this one."  
"This one what?"  
"Are you being dense deliberately?"

"I... got distracted there for a second."

"I can't take you on a stakeout on this case, Bones." The shock was visible on her delicate features. And more than he wanted to deal with. He looked around for a waitress and signaled for another orange juice. Seeley Booth, master of deflection.

"What do you mean by too dangerous?" And now the heat rising in her was not the kind that made her go gooey inside, excited and wet. No, this was the heat of rage. A rage that started feeding first on his inability to explain rationally _what in the bloody hell_ he meant by _too dangerous_ and then feeding on itself until all her customary cool, all her detachment, all that composure that strangers called coldness just boiled over into a river of red, hot, smoking rage. "What does that even mean? Like we haven't been in far more danger than that. Like I didn't save you from that... from that..."

"Gravedigger?" Booth supplied helpfully.

"Like I didn't get... get..." She pointed her index finger, simulating a gun as she drew short once more, the rage putting a break on her speech.

"Shot?" Booth supplied once again, a smile sweet as honey, as the rage seemed to be erupting from her, a living, uncontrollable thing. If he had hoped to sooth her he immediately recognized that it was not going to happen.

"Don't! Don't be nice to me, because I just want to hurt you!" Booth shrank in his chair. She could do it, for real. "I told you that those CS Unit geeks couldn't find you with two hands and a torch"

"Flashlight, Bones, it's two hands and a flashlight"

"And who the hell cares if it is torch or flashlight? I deserve to be in on this. I can help you find him and... and" Again she came up short. There was so much she wanted to shout at him and all the words just kept on tripping all over each other and she wasn't even sure she wanted to stop yelling at him. Just that she wanted to pummel his face until he stopped being such a jerk. "I can spot him in a crowd, Booth, just by the way he moves. You know that. Angela and Hodgins found out that there is order in the way that he going about this, giving you a very good chance at knowing where he is going to strike next. I gave you the tools for this and now you want me out of it? _Too dangerous_? I got shot already. You nearly died for me. So where is the logic in your _it's too dangerous_?" She had to stop for breath. There was a reason she did not allow herself to get upset often. And this was why. Because she was now unable to even think coherently, let alone make use of her expanse of verbal skills, not to mention that she was on the verge of tears and nearly ready to start begging that he let her go with him. That he did not even consider taking Agent Blonde Cow Perotta with him on a stake out that was, by all rights, _hers_. With a partner that was _hers_. A man that should be_ hers_. She sniffled slightly and Booth found himself very close to moving around to her side of the table, picking her up and consoling the only way he knew how: with a kiss.

But. There was always that but. She already had him wrapped around her little finger. She nearly always got him to do every thing she wanted. A kiss would be a piss poor idea with piss poor results. He sighed deeply.

"Bones, listen-"  
"Don't call me Bones!" Was she pouting? Oh, dear God, she was pouting. _Never a break!_

"Listen, Bones- and I will call you Bones because you're my Bones, right?-" She had to smile through the anger. She just had to because there it was again, that smile, that gorgeous smile that she couldn't resist for more that 3 seconds straight. "What I meant is: I will not put you deliberately in a dangerous situation. This is not like there is no choice, OK? This is something that I will prepare carefully, with time. And don't interrupt me, OK?" he held his hand to her lips to stop further protest. And it took a great deal of willpower to draw his hand back because it was almost the best place to put his hand on. "Besides, you know this is not our thing. This is Perotta's. I will need to tell her this. She is the primary investigator in this case.

Perotta. The word alone had the power to drive her up the wall. Almost literally. In her mind, she was pulling the other woman by the gray, nearly FBI standard issue suit and tossing her around the room for a few rounds of a rather satisfying beating. She nearly felt it in her hands, the soft wool of the gray suit, the weight of the body that filled it as she lifted the woman from her seat and tossed her against a wall. Easy as pie. Brennan was taller, and, she was damned sure, more versed in martial arts, more agile, stronger. She was no twittering bird. She was a cat, a lioness, defending her turf. And she heard it too, the crunch of the bones against a wall, any wall. It wasn't even important all the taekwondo maneuvers she had learned or the capoeira she had picked up in Brazil or the breathing techniques from Yoga. None of it. Brennan was sure that Perotta would draw blood. In fact, she would even concede to it first, be happy if that happened as anger would feed her strength. And then she would just laugh in the other woman's face and toss her on the floor and in the good cat fight way, just sit on her and sink her fists into the pretty, pleasant face until she turned the other woman in to an inform pulp of blood, sweat and tears. And it would be even more satisfying if she could rip a piece or two of clothing. She was sure any shrink would tell her she was like an alpha female marking her territory but she couldn't give a toss about that. Not a single bit. What was it Booth said? Not a tiny rat's ass. Angela surely would support and cheer as she dragged the other woman's body by the lovely soft hair into a puddle of mud and just rubbed her face in it. And she wouldn't be happy or call it quits until she had sweated out all that anger that had accumulated over the last few weeks- which was no small insignificant thing. It would probably take her a whole hour of the exercise to feel like her old self again. And if Booth himself decided to separate them, then she would just have to punch him as well for good measure. Maybe even get one of his lips to bleed just so that she could leave a mark- any mark- on him. Idiot. Frikin' idiot!

Booth could see her eyes narrowing in anger, and the expression in Brennan's face turned hot and mean. He thought it was directed at him. Another instance of foot in the mouth and, apparently, all the way down his stomach.

"Bones..." He tried, calling her name softly, cajoling her to talk to him, but her breath was coming in hard pants and her knuckles were tight around the empty orange juice stained glass and her gaze was caught definitely elsewhere. And he was willing to bet that she would be like this in bed, all heat and passion and that fierce energy pouring out of her. And sipping into him.

"Bones, come on, don't be like that..?" He spoke absently, just so that the sound of his own voice could interrupt the very dangerous speeding train of his thoughts. Sadly for Booth, she chose that precise moment to return from her reverie.

"Like what? Don't be like what, huh?" She was good at confronting him, Booth knew that. She placed her face and her body in full-on attack position- just like he would do himself- invading his personal space and demanding a reply, an honest reply- none of his usual load of bull. But he was still Seeley Booth, still master of deflection and self-denial.

"OK, so maybe I didn't choose the right words but-" He interrupted himself as he saw the color rising in her face and fought desperately for a good apology. "Screw that... Look Bones, I'm sorry, OK? I really am." And with each word the anger rose up in her and, inevitably, it boiled over.

"I don't care. I want in on it, I wanna be on that stake out, I don't want you to go with Perotta and-" Brennan did not see it coming. Booth himself did not see it coming. But somehow, as the pitch of her voice raised and raised, and her breath became shallower and shallower and the color in her face deeper and deeper, it suddenly became clear to Booth, crystal clear, how to get control over the situation.

He kissed her. He kissed her into stunned silence.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note: I know, I know, it took me the longest time to update. And with the extended weekend and all... shame on me! But there kids to play with and books to read and, well, life in general...**

**This chapter comes to you with the help of MickeyBoggs who patiently proof reads and makes it better.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 13

_Piss poor idea. Piss poor idea. Piss poor idea_. But damned if it didn't feel good. So good in fact that his lips could not, would not stop moving over hers, her taste all orange juice fresh and anger hot and Bones as an undertone he had not been able to forget since that Christmas more than a year ago. So good that his neck tingled and his skin crawled and his dick responded fiercely as if he'd been 15 all over again. _Damn_. Now what? Should he keep on kissing? Should he just carry her to his place and toss her on his bed and fuck the daylights out of her? Because God as his witness, there was nothing that he wanted more in his whole damned life. He should break the kiss before she broke his neck. _Screw it: just a few more seconds._

************

_E=mc2. E=mc2, E=mc2._ Really? _E=mc2. E=mc2. E=mc2._ _Easy, Brennan. __Breathe!_ What a stupid moment to think of Einstein and energy formulas, when you're getting your mind kissed out of you by the embodiment of all your wet dreams. _E=mc2, E=mc2, E=mc2. _Brennan fought to hang on to the reality of having Booth's lips moving over hers, all Booth-gentle and apple pie warm and coffee strong. She would have to reconsider her opinion on apple pie. Apple pie was nearly the best flavor in the whole world. Why was he kissing her anyway? _Who cares, Brennan?_ He is kissing you and it feels so good. Ju_st pray he doesn't stop anytime soon_ because his tongue was inviting and demanding and exactly like she remembered from that Christmas. And when his hand moved to the back of her head and pressed her further to him, his fingers playing with her hair and massaging her scalp, the short hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end and a shiver ran down her spine and her heart tightened and loosened almost painfully, almost blissfully. _Breathe? Who needs to breathe?_

************

Was she responding to the kiss? She was. _SHE WAS! SHE IS_! Just a few more seconds... And then we will have to talk about this and where this takes us and... _Whoa, there Seel! Kiss. Just kiss..._

And then, in a sequence from hell, the waitress came back with the most annoying orange juice ever and placed it on the table with a thud that said _Get a room_ and his phone rang and the lunch time noise of the diner that had somehow been nothing but a faded, muffled sound just a nanosecond before came back with a vengeance, loud and irritating. Reality crashed on them like a tone of bricks. Their lips separated hastily.

_No, just a little bit more_ Brennan's brain cells and heart strings clamored.

_No, just a few seconds more_, Booth's heart and gut screamed at him.

Each of them stared at the face in front of them, shocked and amazed. Silently.

Booth decided that he did not want to talk about it; it was too good to be spoiled with her oddball rational theories. She was silent, her eyes wide in amazement, her cheeks flushed and that look of deliberation she had when she was trying to make up her mind about something, her lips slightly swollen from the heat of the kiss. He decided to just enjoy the warmth that lingered in his lips, in his mouth, in his heart. There would be time to talk about it later. And maybe, to kiss her again.

Full of apparent confidence, he gave her a smile that defied her to make any comments.

Brennan remained silent. Too afraid to ask why he had kissed her. Too afraid to hear just one more wise crack. He was staring silently into space as though he too was stunned by that kiss. He had that look of someone who knows something she didn't and was just waiting for her to catch up with it. She decided that she would like to see that kiss repeated and would make sure it happened again. _Just you wait Seeley Booth. Just you wait._

She returned his smile with a confidence she was far from feeling.

******

The dynamic duo finished their lunch in a compromised silence, stealing glances at each other, each preoccupied with the kiss and the ripple of emotion that still ran through their veins. Each too worried with the other's opinion, the other's reaction and both not knowing how to act now, how to be around the other. How to ask for more.

The silence had time to become uncomfortable, uneasy, so unlike what they usually were like together that Booth felt tempted to find an excuse not to drive Bones back to the lab. Almost as much as Brennan felt tempted to walk to the lab- run if needs be, just to be alone with her thoughts and find her balance again. And yet, Booth stood up, pulled her chair back, always the gentleman and helped her shrug into her coat. If only they were not Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan, they would end the day dodging work and sitting in the early spring sun, kissing. But they were what they were and so he drove silently to the lab and they made their way in where uncharacteristically, and feeling strangely relieved for it, Brennan said a quiet _see you tomorrow_ and nearly ran to the safety of her office where she buried her face on a cushion and let out a yell of pure, unadulterated and all encompassing joy. YES!!!!!!!!!

"What happened? Are you OK?... Sweetie?????? Oh God!" Angela walked into the office, attracted by Brennan's muffled cry into the cushion. Misinterpreting the scream, Angela was just trying to make sure Brennan would survive before hunting down Booth and shooting him like the mangy dog that he was. But as she took the pillow away from Brennan's face, the tears she saw incipient in her friend's eyes watered a smile, an unmistakably happy smile.

"He kissed me" Brennan took a deep breath. "He kissed me." It was stated matter-of-factly with apparent calm- except for the fact she was nearly hyperventilating and for the healthy rosy blush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with makeup.

Angela sat on the sofa, the tremor in her legs subsiding. Booth had just escaped the eye gouging, hair tearing, heart carving of a life time.

"Special Agent Hot Stuff kissed you..." Brennan half-nodded a confirmation. "Did you kiss him back?" She was met by a vacant stare and an absent smile that told Angela Temperance Brennan was replaying the kiss in her mind. "Did you kiss him back? Did you participate in the kiss? Sweetie! Well?"

"I think I did"  
"You're not sure?"

"I am...I did. I kissed him back" Brennan seemed to come back to the reality of her office. "Oh yes," she went on with a mischievous smile, "I kissed him back." And then she laughed. It was an amazing sound. Angela had rarely heard Brennan really laugh. Brennan smiled. She did that absent smile thing very well, but it was always a reserved smile. This was a laughter, a hearty, couldn't-care-less, I'm-so-happy kind of laughter. From the heart. So she drew Brennan to her arms and squeezed her tight. She wanted to remember this happy Brennan for a long, long time.

"How good was it?"

"The kiss?"  
"Hu, hu!"

"Nuclear fusion."

"Not too shabby, Brennan, not too shabby. I mean, I thought you two would probably move a small mountain or two the first time you kissed, start a forest fire or something. Nuclear fusion is pretty good. Perhaps you just need practice to make it to the mountain moving stage."

"Practice does make perfect"

"Yes it does. And now?"  
"Now? Now I'm sitting with you... but I'm going to do that again!" Brennan added hastily when Angela gave her menacing look, something between a frown and scowl. "I am definitely going to do that again"

Booth remained in the steps leading to the platform, staring at his black shoes, unable to decide whether to stay or go. Unable to think. Able only to remember the kiss and how his tongue had cruised lazily over her lips and how she had responded after the initial shock had passed, how her eyes closed and her mouth opened, generous and welcoming. He was going to get himself some more of that, that much he was sure. It was one thing to fantasize about it, but it was something out of this world to experience it for real. Yep, he was going to kiss Temperance Brennan again. He couldn't even care less if she decided to break his neck for it. Though if he was any judge- and he was- he'd say that she had enjoyed that. Possibly, nearly as much as he had. A smile crept into his expression, impossible to hold back. A smile that had a mind of its own and that wanted to be seen by the world.

********

As it turned out, it was Jack Hodgins who saw that smile first.

"You better have only the best intentions about her, man!" The bug man called out from his work station where he had been pretending to work since Booth and Brennan had walked into the lab.

"Huh?"

"I'm only going to repeat that because, clearly, you are distracted. I said that you better have good intentions about her. Otherwise..."  
"What, you're going to hurt me?" Booth asked with a smile that illustrated the difference in size and ability for causing pain. It was done good-naturedly, as Booth was in excellent spirits.

"I can always pay the Russian Mafia. Did you kiss her?"

"Yes..." Wow, that Hodgins did not expect. Not so easily anyway.

"Dude! Respect!" Booth stared once more at his shinny black shoes, suddenly finding them exceedingly interesting. "Did Dr. B kiss back?" Booth nodded, the smile widening. "Dude!" Hodgins considered his options and decided that the answer was worth the risk of asking. "Are you going to kiss her again?"

"Yes..." Booth seemed to find the floor pattern interest-worthy.

"Dude!" Hodgins laughed

"Stop saying that."  
"Well, you better have only the best intentions towards Dr. B, otherwise, it's Russian Mafia." Hodgins walked out of his work station towards Booth and gave him a measuring look. "Now if I were you, I think about an old grandma or something, 'cause dude, your pants are showing how happy you are..."

*******************************

The building was an ugly shade of indistinct colors spotted with violent graffiti in a row of equally ugly buildings of similarly indistinct colors and the same acne-like graffiti. Together, the buildings looked like bad teeth in an ulcered mouth. Inside, past a corridor of peeling blue paint that had never looked good, sitting in a darkened room, a man sat caressing a baseball bat, lovingly polishing it with bees wax. He loved that smell. More than the smell of a woman. More than the smell of sex.

"Do you like that, baby? Yes? You'll see, tonight we'll have fun. You and me, baby."

Back at the Hoover, Booth sat in a conference room, holding a disposable cup of bad coffee while trying hard to concentrate on the people in the room. Which was difficult because his mind wandered off regularly to the kiss and his pants were bulging at intervals following each digression into the kiss scene which caused him to have to resort to his old, well-assured method of thinking back to Grandma Booth in her nightgown without her dentures.

He was fighting through his fourth battle against arousal during the so far 15-minute briefing when Cullen spotted him- just like Father Daniels used to do when he got distracted- for the same reason- during Sunday School.

"Agent Booth!" There it was, that tone of fatherly irritation.

"Sir!" Booth was ready to salute but held himself in check just in a nick of time. "Yes, Sir?"

"I was wondering if you had any brilliant ideas. Or is that the part of the partnership that falls to Dr. Brennan?"

"No, Sir..." There was a sheepish look in Booth's face.

"Sir, Agent Booth shared with me his opinion on this case and I think he is, out of professional courtesy, leaving it to me to make a decision on the case." Perotta jumped eagerly to Booth's defense.

"Well, what's the opinion then?"

"Sir," Booth began somewhat deflated, "This guy seems to be random about everything. Dates, locations, victims. But, I think there is some process in this randomness."

"Oh, well, then by all means, do share, Agent Booth"

Booth withdrew the disk Brennan had given him in the morning and handed it to Cullen. "Sir, the map is marked with four numbers. Each number corresponds to a murder..."  
"I was under the impression that we only had 2 sets of murders on this guy, not 4"

"It turns out, Sir, that he's been at it before. Twice more, to be exact."

"Did you know about this, Agent Perotta?"

"Well. Sir...no..." There was a nervous stammer in her voice. Booth immediately punched himself for not briefing her before the meeting, but he had been distracted. So distracted in fact, that the number of murders had not been the only thing he had forgotten to tell her. He had forgotten about the clockwise order and the increase in accuracy of the hits and, especially, the profile he had gotten from Sweets. All in all, his distraction had caused Perotta a moment of embarrassment and was about to cause one more and, Booth felt, he should be punished for that. He tried to work around the issue.

"Well, Sir, I think that the best chance we have is a stake out... Sir" He said hopefully. Maybe Cullen would just take a leap of faith and take his word for it.

"And stake out what, Agent Booth?" Cullen asked like a father who loves his idiot son. Booth took a deep breath and gave Perotta an apologetic look.

"With all due respect, Sir, please have a look at the map. This guy is working clockwise, starting north and moving east." Cullen opened the file and studied the map. Booth and Perotta stood behind him studying the image. "He started here, Sir," Booth's square fingernail pointed at the screen, "and worked his way in a circle. Four sets of murders, eight victims and he's only done a quarter of the circle. Sweets says he may be a collector, Sir. No one is safe." Booth halted his speech as Cullen sighed.

"So where do we go from here, Agent Booth? Stake out what, where?" Booth pointed at a spot on the DC map.

"I've got a.. hunch... Sir, that this is where he will go next. He likes parks, big parks. So far he has not been to small places, and he has always preferred federal land. I say stake out, Sir. Here" Cullen sighed again, took in Agent Perotta's eager, if slightly blushed face from the previous embarrassment.

"I presume your brain trust at the Jeffersonian had something to do with this... discovery..." Booth looked guiltily at Agent Perotta.

"Yes, Sir..."

"They have an uncanny ability with this kind of fuckers"

"Yes, Sir..."

"Do you want to take any of them with you?" Booth was surprised by the question. He had hoped the decision would not fall to him, that maybe Cullen would forbid it our right. He had no wish to take Bones, his Bones, with him. That would be inviting bad luck in. She had been hurt on his watch once too often. And then there was that little lost girl look in Agent Perotta's face and she had been nice to him and he felt like he owed her for going over her head in all the steps he had take in the last day.

He took a deep breath with the same fatalism of a man who signs his own death warrant.

"No, Sir. I think it's best if Agent Perotta organizes this."

"OK, then. Your neck, Agent Booth. Agent Perotta, go organize yourself a stake out!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note: **

**My dear friends following this story**

**Thank you for your patience with the updates. As ever, life has a tendency to get in the way of fiction thus delaying the updates. I wanted to thank each and everyone of you who has reviewed this story. I know I don't usually reply too much, but please know that this is very much appreciated on this side of fiction. You keep on giving me a good measure of how things are perceived and what your wishes are. And, most of the times, that ends up reflecting on the story. It is symbiosis on a very fine level!**

I also want to thank MickeyBoggs for her help- twice, go figure- with this chapter and to Tails who did a first reading when I was sort of stuck. Thank you for your help, ladies.

**Jane**

Chapter 14

What a difference a day made. They had gone from partners to... to... what was it that they were now? They had kissed, that was all. A kiss did not make them lovers. Though she did want that. So what did a kiss that had left both of them too embarrassed to even look in each other's eyes make them? Certainly, something more than partners. Although, they had never been quite only partners. Partners are not all over each other's life like... like... oh, what was wrong with her, that she couldn't even come up with a good simile for that? All the endorphines were wreaking havoc in her brain. Whatever. But they were no longer only partners. This kiss was not like last Christmas. That much she was sure. Thank God for entropy. Well, not God exactly, not like Booth usually said it... more like an expression. A useful one if you wanted to be quick with your expressions. I mean, it's not like it's going to be a nice and clean expression if you just whisper in a man's ear _thanks to millennia of evolutionary trends with the aim of survival of the fittest for entropy... _that should go down well in a romantic situation....

Brennan walked absent long towards the dinner, pulled by some invisible force, a great portion of her brain synapses entangled in the task of understanding where she stood now with Booth, categorizing into neat little cubbyholes what had happened. Compartmentalizing. Compartmentalizing was a comfortable activity. There was that kiss. There was that tingling in her lips and in her fingers and in her toes and on the back of her head where he had held her firmly. As if she had had any intention of running from that. Silly of him. Or maybe not. She hadn't, after all, given him any indication that she wanted to be kissed. He had always told her that her verbal communication skills lied somewhere between those of the volcanic rock and of the pond scum. Or at least that had been her interpretation of his vernacular expression _sucks_. And she did _suck_. No doubt about it. Which was why she was worrying herself into nausea on how to approach him now. He'd be at the diner, she was sure about that. He always went to the diner at 8 pm if he was not worrying some perp into confessing a crime. He'd be having coffee and waiting for her. And it was going to be weird. Oh God, that would be so weird. Verbal communication skills would come in very handy now. Because how should she approach him? Just lean into him and say _kiss me again_? Booth was very alpha male for that approach though she definitely favored that one. He'd probably lecture her on gentleness or romanticism or whatever. So that was pretty much out of the question. Maybe just touch his hand like when she wanted him to open up and share a secret emotion with her. That could work though he could just mistake it for something else though he had a history of missing her cues. Or maybe she should just follow Angela's advice and stare into his eyes. Angela had said it would be a fool proof plan and that even she, Brennan, could pull it off. But what if he didn't feel compelled to kiss her? What if he regretted it already? He wouldn't... he wouldn't, would he? And if he did, she'd make him see reason. That their genes together would be the best combination possible... rationally. Would he go for that type of argument? Maybe it would be better to go for the truth of the matter and just say that she loved him... though that sounded strange even to her own ears- not to mention that she wouldn't even be able to say it out loud without a fair bit of practice. Brennan decided to play it by ear. Entropy could work for her here too. If one technique failed, she could just try something different. Yes... that could work.

***************

Booth pushed away at his pie, the appetite for the treat all but gone.

"All I'm saying is the sooner the better, Agent Perotta-"

"Call me Peyton, please."

"Right... Agent Perotta... Peyton... This guy is on the loose... what if he decides to take a walk tonight? We'll wake up tomorrow with two more victims, two more families broken. Nothing makes up for that. Nothing!"

"Seeley, I am not about to risk my life- and yours- to go on a stake out that has not been thoroughly prepared. We need to have a support team, a communications team, reinforcements- everything at the ready. This guy comes in, I want it on video, because, so far, we have zilch forensic-wise. I need a conviction and for a conviction, I need evidence. I am not about to go in and get screwed."

"Don't call me Seeley!"

"OK. I won't call you Seeley. But you can still call me Peyton. But back to the point. I don't think one more night is going to make a difference. I just need reassurance. I do not want to risk my team." Her hands brushed her hair nervously, smoothing it into perfection. She took a sip of her tea and as she pensively savored the warm comforting liquid, she spotted Brennan coming into the dinner. _Was that woman everywhere?_  
"This is your op, Peyton." Booth remained oblivious to Brennan's approaching presence.

*****

_Peyton? Who's Peyton? Oh... Peyton Perotta... since when are they on first name basis?_

"Agent Perotta... Booth... Good evening"

_God she smells good. _Booth's focus of attention shifted naturally to Brennan still standing up, her face inscrutable, her mouth set in a line that was neither disapproving nor condoning of his sitting there with Agent Perotta. He had all but forgotten about his colleague and stood up, somewhat awkwardly for a man of his feline grace. He stood still looking at Brennan, deep into the crystalline depths and wondering how she would react if he just pulled her into another kiss. He settled for walking to her and pulling her chair. And that's when he remembered that Perotta was still standing there, because Brennan was not sitting directly in front of him, but at an askew angle that his body immediately compensated by shifting in his seat to look in a straight line into her face.

"Hi Bones..."  
"Hi Booth..." There was a strange energy crackling between them, like a summer storm when the air is dry and wind smells of rain yet unfallen.

Agent Perotta observed the two of them feeling like the candle in a candle holder during a romantic dinner. And she did not enjoy it. She liked being the object of the regard, rather than the forgotten third at a table. She hated the eye fuck those two had going on. She cleared her throat once, discreetly and twice, more vehemently and thrice obnoxiously. Brennan was the first to look in her direction.

"Are you OK, Agent Perotta? Maybe a sip of water to help with your affliction? It does sound like hay allergy- though it is slightly early in the year for that." Brennan chided herself for the incessant chatter. Anyone who knew her would see through the chatter into the uncomfortable feeling that made her blab away. Like any two-brain-cells moron.

"Thank you . Though I had assumed that you were not a real medical doctor..." Brennan swallowed hard but if anything, she had heard Booth snickering at her in the occasions people brought that up against her.

"Well, you know what assume does... _it makes an ass out of you to me_..." She looked at Booth happy with the joke she'd made. But Booth was still looking at her, his poker face on, unreadable. She felt compelled to explain, to show she knew how to be a woman of the world. And it was to him that she explained her joke. "You know: _ass_ as in the animal... _you_, like the vowel _u_... it spells the word, Booth... Oh... I guess if you have to explain it then it's not that funny...." She turned to Perotta." Besides, any half wit would have suggested the same glass of water, Agent Perotta." It was said in a definitive tone that left nothing to be said on the subject. "Did I interrupt anything, Booth? I thought we were going to have dinner"

Booth did a quick check on his memory bank. No, they hadn't made any plans, so he hadn't forgotten about it. But then again, you could count on the fingers of a single hand the days that they did not have dinner together.... But dinner with Bones tonight? If he could get past the awkward bit, oh yeah, baby. Then the words _stake out_ formed like a dark shadow in his mind. Bones on one hand, stake out on the other. _Crap, never a break._

"Well, Agent Perotta and I were just trying to decide on how best to proceed. We have the go ahead for a stake out..." He let the volume on the last few words drop considerably. Hopefully, with the noise of the diner, Bones would miss the two final words. And he might just not have to tell her that they were not having dinner together because he was going on a stake out that did not involve her. And he knew she was going to be disappointed. A stake out for his Bones, he knew, was like a great adventure, a game. He knew she had not missed a beat when her eyes focused on him rather than on Perotta whom she had been busy sizing up.

"Are we going on a stake out, then?"  
"Bones..." There was a warning in his voice. He did not want to go through the whole discussion of the matter in front of Perotta. Ultimately because he did not want Bones being defeated in anything in front of the other woman. He might not be fully conversant in the games women play, but he knew that Brennan was even far less equipped than he was to deal with that. And he did not want to add to her handicap. Plus, it would be a humiliation she did not need or deserve.

"Bones, we've talked about this before, and I thought we agreed..."  
"No, Booth, we failed to reach an agreement, remember? We were... _negotiating_ and... well... you..." and she pointed at him an uncertain finger that still managed to take her point across. Booth felt himself blush.

"Yeah... I see what you mean..." He cleared his throat. Yes, they had been _negotiating_ when the kiss happened. Well, not happened on its own... He smiled at the thought. "Bones..." He hesitated and pointed his chin at Agent Perotta sitting silently and studying the exchange.

"Seeley, don't mind me..." Perotta chipped in when she saw both Booth and Brennan's eyes falling on her.

"Don't call him Seeley!"

"Don't call-" Booth interrupted himself mid-sentence because he'd been taken aback by the possessiveness in her tone of voice and because he wasn't giving any of them any weapons- Perotta or Bones. He was an impartial man -if not totally honest with himself. "Bones, this is Peyton's op, not mine. So, it's her decision. You know my opinion."

"What? So you're saying that I need to ask _her_?" Not unkindly, not even unruly. Just... surprised. Brennan crossed her arms across her chest. _Funny_, Booth thought, _that's supposed to be a defensive gesture, but in her it just looks like a wildcat bracing for the attack "_Fine, I'll ask." Her eyes darted daggers in Booth's general direction. "Agent Perotta, can I go on the stake out with you?" Brennan was ready to launch on her explanation of her merits to be part of the operation- she had reviewed and expanded her rapport since the first attempt at convincing Booth earlier that morning, but Perotta just cut her short.

", you are a civilian. I know you are a gifted civilian, but a civilian nonetheless. If anything were to happen to you, I would be in more trouble than I care to imagine." She spoke in that reasonable tone that made Brennan's blood boil with impotence. If only the other woman had been rude or mean, she'd know how to deal with it. Ah, she'd have cause to _deal _with it_._ But she did not know how to deal with the silent communication, that silent understanding that passed between _her_ Booth and the blond woman when she realized no amount of solid reasoning would persuade them. It was a look that, to her mind spelled out _See, I'm good at dealing with petulant children_ which was, anyway, how she felt at that moment. Booth saw the light in her eyes dim a little, though she hid carefully under that unreadable expression of hers. But he knew she was disappointed. And what was worse, disappointed with him. He still did not want her risking her neck, but he was sure he could have done it differently. And it broke his heart that he had the tact of an elephant in a china shop dealing with her. It made him feel like a celebrated idiot and he wanted to make it up to her.

"Come on, Bones, let's have dinner" He sounded, even to himself, like a consolation prize. And she might not be the most perceptive and intuitive of mortals, but she saw through him. He reached his hand across the table and touched the tips of her fingers with the tips of his, lightly, briefly, but still enough to make him crave more and more of her. And in that touch, Brennan saw the olive branch he was offering, not just the pity she had been ready to read into it.

"Yes..." She offered the syllable in a raspy whisper that had reminded him of lazy summer days.

"Yes, let's have dinner while we discuss the details of the op, Agent Booth" Perotta put her two cents in, unable to concede a match point and effectively sitting Booth who had been about to take Brennan by the hand and waltz off to a nice takeaway place just close to his apartment. Perotta pulled out her cell phone where she called up the map Angela and Hodgins had devised, her field notebook and silver pen and started writing, knowing that Booth would have to pay attention to her and her planning, effectively removing Brennan from the conversation.

"Why don't you start today?" Brennan asked after studying the diagrams in Perotta's notebook. "As far as we know, this guy can be taking his bat out tonight." Booth turned to Perotta and gave her look that read _See? Planning is a waste of time. I'm not the only one who thinks so_. Perotta decided to ignore the gesture and replied to Brennan instead, the tone one of condescending superiority.

"Because, , I am not going to risk anyone in my team. I am taking my team into the field and will bring my team back. All in one piece."

"Commendable, really, but what if killer strikes tonight?"

"He won't"

"How can you be so certain? He has never had any sort of pattern, as far as we know, tonight may well be the night. Do you think it's worth risking inaction?"

"" Perotta's carefully crafted veneer of patience was wearing visibly thin. "This issue is not open for discussion. But thank you for your input. Really!"

The man moved through the darkness as if he were a part of it. A shadow with no face and a baseball bat in his hand. A scent of beeswax trailed behind him in the cool early spring air. As he approached the car, a dirty old thing where the young couple sat completely absorbed in each other, as very young lovers tend to do, the baseball bat jumped into life and action, spreading fear and pain as the man plunged it through the open window of the passenger seat. The young girl screamed, the freshness of her skin tainted by the pallor of terror and the blood flecks from her boyfriend's head smashed by a single blow plunged into his face. The instinct of flight ran through her mind immediately, but her legs failed her as did the fight instinct and it was like being in a bad dream, rooted to the ground, bogged down by an immense weight. She wet herself in her horror and died hoping that no one would check her underwear for the ultimate of humiliations. She was sixteen and taking her car out without her father's overprotection for the very first time.

At that time, Agent Peyton Perotta was finally happy with her tactic planning for a stake out. She would go by Booth's earlier hunch of the location but she would go in with a video surveillance team, an armed support team and headquarters' tac team support. She would not risk anyone's life, no sir. She would take her team and bring them all back plus a killer well and truly wrapped in evidence with a conviction under her arm. And, quite possibly, Agent Booth's admiration as well. It had been a long time since she felt that strongly about someone. Too bad that was stuck to him like the measles. Or a ghost. The ghost of failed intentions. Still, 's reputation within the Bureau in DC was that of a sex machine who had no qualms in bedding as many men as needed to satisfy her desires. All the more power to her. Trouble was, in Peyton Perotta's opinion, that Booth's affections and obvious blind spot towards her were misguided. In fact, Agent Perotta thought, he needed someone like herself, someone who would take good care of his heart- instead of playing him for a fool. There were rumors running quietly that he had not bedded a woman since the break up with Dr. Saroyan. If that was the case, it was a waste of his chivalrous heart, but she would very much like to be the one to break the spell. Indeed, that would be her very private, very shiny crown of glory.

The incessant ring of her phone woke her to the sight before her: Booth holding Brennan's hand in his, his fingers caressing her slowly, absently, as he was still trying to charm her into giving up on being a part of the stake out. The scientist could try with Booth all she wanted, but as long as her, Peyton Perotta was in charge, there would not come a day when that would happen. She had no intention of babysitting a grown woman. Enough that Booth had asked her that while he had been unable to do so himself. The phone rang yet again, a shrill annoying noise. And then, Booth's phone danced softly on the table. He picked it up never letting go of Brennan's hand. And his soft smile faded into an unreadable face, his lips contracting to a single line,

"Fuck!" That was the long and short of it, of what she knew instinctively, the crew had been trying to tell her when she missed the call: the killer had come out with his bat again. And _fuck_ was indeed accurate- as she saw her dream of catching a killer, of holding his conviction in her right hand and Booth's heart in her left slipping through her finger in ashes. Fuck indeed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Authro's note: Thank you all for reviewing. It's really nice to open my inbox and seeing all those comments in there. I'm sorry I haven't been responding to you all... It has been a crazy time, but the good news is that it can only get better.**

**Thank you to MickeyBoggs for her poofreading skills and for pointing me towards the episodes on line!**

**Jane**

Chapter 15

The sirens in the cars were quiet now, the sense of urgency subdued to the immutable permanence of death. Only the dancing blue lights of the law enforcement cars remained of the earlier commotion, shedding an intermittent light to recondite nooks and burrows of the park, the only sign that something out of nature's ordinary had come to pass. Birds and squirrels perched on their branches, spying on the activity that had awaken them from their night rest. At the center of all the blue lights, a white tent like expansion of cotton shielded the scene from the prying eyes of the media, already circling, already sniffing blood. Ready to break a story juicier, more macabre, better to fill air time than the latest sports scandal. But only slightly.

"Swing or plunge, Bones?"

"Plunge for both," Brennan mimicked the movement, consistent to her impressions of the earlier victims two weeks before.

"Same guy?" Booth was speaking through gritted teeth his jaw clenched. The air around him crackled with nervous energy and though he stood perfectly still, his muscles seemed to vibrate in anger. Brennan could sense he was barely holding on his temper and was glad that she was sure it was not directed at her.

"Everything points to that." She tried to commit to giving him a definitive answer. He was in no mood for her hold backs, her not jumping into conclusions. He needed to hold on to something definitive about scene in front of them. He desperately needed something that made sense in the horror on display in front of him. "The male victim... the boy... he was killed first, Booth."

Booth gave her a grateful look when she corrected herself from that impersonal formulation of _victim_ into something more specific, though _boy_ grated at his nerves and his conscience. He looked once more at the school IDs in his hand. Glen Warrick, 16 and Fiona Jane Jackson, also 16. And they were dead because, though his instinct had told him to get a move on, to be there, at that exact park today, he had been blindsided into sitting comfortably at the dinner while holding one woman's hand and putting up with another's bullshit. If he had been there, if he hadn't been so stupid, these two kids would be alive now. He would not have to go into somebody's living room and shatter their lives with the news that their precious son or daughter was lying cold in a morgue after what that degenerate had done to them. That they wouldn't even recognize them through all the damage done to their young faces. In fact, it was his due to pay that he should tell the families himself. If he hadn't put up with Perotta's crap, if he hadn't been too worried about hurting Bones' feelings, he would have been there. And that sunovabitch would not have taken two kids. The bastard would have tried to take him and failed. Yes, all in all, Booth thought, he deserved to have to talk to those two families.

"How do you know, Bones... that the boy died first?" He added when Brennan gave him that blank look of hers that mean that she was already studying something else.

"The girl, Booth, she saw it coming. She saw him coming for her." Her voice broke a little when she said it. Booth instinctively walked to her side, the consoling instinct, his second nature around Bones, coming to life. "She urinated, Booth. It's a natural reflex to fear. She had time to fear what was coming. But she did not run." The next words were more whispered than spoken, something between her and the dead girl. "Why didn't you run?" Brennan turned to Booth again, concentrating on facts, putting aside conjectures and questions that could not be answered. "She wouldn't want that to be known, Booth. It's the ultimate humiliation... Why can't I take her to the Jeffersonian? I'd take good care of her, Booth. Of both. I'll ask Cam and Angela to make them... better for their families to take away... Please, reconsider subcontracting this one to us..." There was a stubborn tear in the blue eyes that Brennan refused to allow and that Booth pretended not to see. He put his hand on the small of her back and felt less alone, less burdened with his guilt.

"Did you gather all the information possible from the crime scene?"

"Booth, you know I didn't. I'd need Hodgins and a photographer to get a complete recital of the crime scene... and I'd need to-"  
"Take it back to the lab?"

"You know that, Booth" He gave one last look at the young couple still sitting in the car, still untouched by death's cold and motioned Brennan to move away. He called in a CS Unit uniformed man.

"Wrap it up in here. Send copies of all reports and photos to Dr. Brennan's brain trust and make sure that the victims are sent there as well. Now." The young man gave him a clearly conflicted look.

"Sir... Agent Booth... Agent Perotta... she..." Booth waited almost patiently for the rest of the sentence. The man was clearly hoping that Booth would draw his own conclusions. Booth grabbed the young man by the arm and spoke, a little forcefully, in his ear.

"YOU make sure that the bodies are taken to the Jeffersonian. YOU make sure that all the reports and photos are made available to the Jeffersonian team before day break. YOU. Do I make myself clear?"  
"Yes, sir" The man was clearly terrified. Brennan put her hand in Booth's arm and whispered his name. _Booth_. The soothing effect was immediate. "Chop, Chop." As the man turned on his heels and nearly ran, Booth took a deep breath of air. The head clearing effect he had hoped for did not register. There was a smell of death in the air. He shouldn't have noticed- it was not the smell of blood or of bodily waste- but he did. It was a smell that still lingered in his memories from one too many wars he'd lived through.

"Does death smell?" Brennan gave him a studying look. Uncharacteristically, she took her time before she answered. Booth was momentarily distracted by the fact that she was actually pondering her answer.

"I think it's not death in itself that smells. Death is a natural part of life. What smells- stinks, really- is the waste of human life when it happens like this..." Booth turned to her. When had she become so less literal? How had it happened without him noticing?

"What do you think you're doing?" Agent Perotta's usually sweet voice had a new gradient of irritation to it as she trotted from the cluster of Crime Scene vans looking more like a collie puppy than any human should. "Who gave you the authority to subcontract this case? This is not going to the Jeffersonian and they are not getting my case files and that's final." And that harsh note of irritation melted into the customary sweetness as she approached Booth. "You know that I am the primary investigator on this case, Seeley... I mean Agent Booth" She flashed her coyest smile. Booth moved into her personal space unabashed irritation and anger coming out of every pore.

"What I'm doing, Agent Perotta, is what I should have done on the first day: grow a pair and do the right thing. _'this is not going'_?" He imitated her tone and made a gesture that encompassed the scene behind him, the white cotton covering the ugliness of what was inside._ "'this' _are two kids still sitting in a car. _'this'_ is what happened because you wanted to sit in a diner and cozily prepare your stake out. _'this'_ is nearly as much your fault as it is mine. _'this'_ is not going to happen again!" Booth could feel control slipping away again. He wanted to put his head through a tree trunk to punish himself for letting this happen. He wanted to put Perotta's head through the same tree trunk. Again Brennan's hand touched his arm and her warmth and calm presence soothed him. He took a deep breath but the edge of anger was still there. "The victims, Agent Perotta, the ones we are sworn to protect, are in that car. Still. And because we failed to protect them, because we failed to give them our best when they were alive, we are going to give them the best now. For all that it's worth. We are going to give them 's team and the Jeffersonian's resources."

"Agent Booth, I understand that you are feeling very emotional about this issue." The tone was clearly conciliatory, but it only managed to irk Booth further. "But you cannot let your personal admiration for Dr. Brennan blindside you. There is still a chain of command and, right now, on this case, I'm at the top of it. Perhaps you should remember that before go on making hasty decisions that you have no power to uphold, embarrassing both of us in front of _our _team."  
Brennan could feel the air vibrate around Booth. She wanted to intervene. She wanted to tell the woman off, spare Booth. But he was still Booth and he dealt with all things in his own way, sometimes, a way she did not understand - though she was hoping for a chance with this case. And a certainty grew in her mind: that she'd help even if she did not get the chance to examine the victims.

"Well, I'll tell you what, Agent Perotta, you do what you have to do and I do what I have to do and we'll go from there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a murderer to catch."

"Agent Booth, do not make me do this." Booth turned on his heel and guided Brennan onwards with his hand on the small of her back "You know that I will have to report it if you take the bodies anywhere else but our forensics lab. This is not good career move." Booth turned and rounded on her, his height towering over the woman who, credit where credit was due Brennan thought, did not cower.

"As I said, you will do what you have to do, Agent Perotta. You run to whom ever you need to run to."  
"I really don't understand why you have to do this... Just because Dr. Brennan wants in on the case and can't stand to be on the bench for once? Don't you go trusting her, because you are not the first Booth she gets into trouble..."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Brennan felt oddly paralyzed. She knew what was coming out of that particular segment of conversation. She knew she should have interrupted it. But it was like watching a car crash happening. She was powerless to muster any reaction, like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car and she understood what the dead girl had felt just a few hours ago: impossible to flee, impossible to run. Her bladder had almost the same reaction, the urgent need to pee as she heard the fatal words shoot from Agent Perotta's mouth as if from a gun:  
"So don't you know that your brother's current predicament is because _she_ persuaded him to steal a corpse using his navy credentials?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Brennan was counting herself lucky, all things considered. Booth hadn't run from her or turned on her or turned his back on her on even turn back on his word to send the case to the Jeffersonian. Still, it was the wee hours of the night and there she was, working at the lab because she had nowhere else to be just at that particular moment. She had arrived at the lab at the nearly same time as the two bodies. Booth had dropped her off, ominously, without getting out of the car to open the door for her. And she knew this because she had given him the time to do so, unable to move at her normal speed, still, her legs oddly feeling like jelly and not willing to sustain her. The look in his face promised storm but he had said nothing. Somehow, it had not occurred to her that he might not connect the dots between his kidnapping and Jaed's "predicament" as Perotta had put it. Nor had it occurred to her to think about Jared's troubles. She was only happy that Booth was back safe and sound. She hadn't spared Jared an extra thought, which was selfish. She had started several times during the short car ride to explain herself to Booth only to stop before uttering a word. That she hadn't been hiding her participation in Jared's imprisonment on purpose, that she only forgot about it. _He'll like that even less_. She thought about reminding him that her asking Jared to help had saved his life, that ultimately, Jared had saved his life. Her mouth had opened and prepared to talk several times. But nothing had come out. Booth's silence was like a stone wall keeping her from reaching him. She wanted to reach out her hand and touch him as she was at a loss for words- and that was something that never happened to her. Except now when she desperately needed to find the right ones and make everything OK.

So she had walked alone through the empty corridors, her heels thumping lonely on the tiled floor, their echo hammering her current situation into her heart like a tattoo of loneliness. She wanted to be alone anyway. She wouldn't be able to stand scrutiny right at that moment, so she postponed calling Cam, Hodgins and Angela for as long as she could. And that was for the whole ten minutes it took the crime scene van to bring in the remains.

Brennan sighed and the sound carried loudly through the empty corridors. She hit the speed dial and in less than an hour she had the core of her team pouring in through the doors and looking none too happy at being there in the early morning.

"Dr. B, tell me that there is a good reason that I'm here at four am. That's... just cruel."

Brennan merely nodded at the two body bags in the two tables in Cam's lab.

"Oh..." It was all they could muster before Hodgins caved into a winner's smile.

"So we get the case?" Yes, it was a small smile of victory she detected not only in Hodgins' face but Angela's and Cam's. She should have been happy, but there were two victims, there was her own guilt she shared with Booth at not having prevented two more killings and, obviously, and currently paramount to everything else, there was that coldness in Booth's stance. He had never been like that towards her and it not only hurt, it disconcerted her.

She closed her face, unable to feel happy with the small victory of having the case.

"Dr. Hodgins, this is not something to be happy about... we have two victims and a killer on the loose." Hodgins pulled his face back into a more somber countenance but kept his eyes trained on Brennan. It took him no more than 2 seconds to detect that a general air of worry and sadness coming from her. They had congregated around the body bags that Cam opened reverently.

"Oh..." Cam took in the young devastated faces staring at her from their rubber shrouds. Angela covered her mouth and turned away, slowly gathering courage to look back again. Comfortingly to Brennan, she did not crack any jokes on her job description not encompassing this kind of detail. But she did look questioningly at Brennan wondering what her role in this would be. The rest of the team followed her gaze. This case was way out of what was usual to them. Brennan cleared her throat.

"I want us to work on them without further damage. I need to gather any trace evidence- anything and everything, Jack. I need to establish possible body build for the killer, Angela. I want to know if he has any physical characteristics that have imprinted themselves on the remains, Angela. Cam, the reports of the crime scene will be released to us in a matter of minutes. Let's go through them together. I want to know what the FBI is missing on this. There are no perfect crimes. The only thing we need is to find the detail that tells us who this guy is. Preferably, before he gets anyone else." The team looked expectantly at her. They knew there was something else. "The challenge is to catch a murderer without damaging the victims further." Three pairs of eyes stared at her intently. "I want to return them to their parents in way that they'll recognize them. I don't want to give them back only bones, which leads me to my next request. We need to... we need to give them back their faces. I was wondering if we could reverse the damage, do some cosmetic work, I think... Just so that their parents could have a look at them and see their children, not..."

"Dr. Brennan, you know that's not really what we do here. We are not morticians..." Cam started and stopped short.

"But one of us is an artist and the other is a good coroner..."

"We'll do what we can, Sweetie," Angela called up all her courage just to manage that agreement.

"Thank you." There was a moment of awkwardness when emotion threatened to overcome her.

"Am I getting any soil samples, Dr. B?" She gave Hodgins a quite thankful smile for that back-to-business comment.

"Whatever you don't get, you can obtain by your own means, Jack. But I want this guy caught."

As the team dispersed in different directions, Brennan stood there for a long moment, studying the victims and trying desperately to compartmentalize all her thoughts and emotions. There was a killer to catch, and she'd do well not to forget about that first priority.

*********

Booth walked into Cullen's office fully prepared for the ball busting of a lifetime. It was to be expected anyway. Several reasons: he deserved it- oh yes he did, he had let two kids get killed; he had gone over Perotta's head yet again by subcontracting to the Jeffersonian; he had disregarded the chain of command and, most of all, there was Murphy's law: whatever could go wrong, would go wrong. He stood by the doorway while Perotta's blond mane of hair waved gently as she nodded at something that Cullen had just said. She turned at Cullen's silent gesture for Booth to walk in. The triumphant look on her face was quickly and efficiently concealed before Booth could notice.

"Agent Booth." There was weariness in the man's voice. "I understand that you have... liaised with the Jeffersonian on this matter without consulting with Agent Perotta first.

"Yes, Sir"

"Don't _yessir_ me Agent Booth. This is not the army but I still want an explanation!" _Step one in the ball busting process: put your balls on the block._

"Sir, this decision should not come as a surprise. I have a working relationship with the Jeffersonian that has always been both productive and highly praised."

"A working relationship, you say? It seems to me that you and your Dr. Brennan are glued at the....huh... hip" _Step two in the ball busting process: Do not offer resistance._

"Sir, we failed these kids. They are in a morgue now because we were sitting comfortably discussing if we should move the right or the left foot first. We owe them the only thing we can give them now: the truth"

"And the venerable institution that is the FBI is incapable of doing so on its own? Spare me, Agent Booth, I can see your opinion in your face. There is a chain of command here. Without it, we are no more than a bunch of maverick bounty hunters. Is that understood?" _Step three in the ball busting process: stand up and say 'can I please have some more'._

"Yes, Sir."

"You're excused, Agent Perotta."

"Sir, can I inform Dr. Brennan that her services will not be required on this case?" Perotta moved in for the killing blow, a barely-there smile on the pretty face.

"Don't you mean inform the Jeffersonian, Agent Perotta? The Jeffersonian reports to us, not Dr. Brennan, I hope you're aware. You're excused, Agent Perotta."  
"Sir..."

"Excused, Agent Perotta, I said, you're excused." Cullen waited for the door to click shut before turning his attention to Booth.

"Now, Agent Booth," _What was step four in the ball busting process?_ "I do not like insubordination in my ranks..." The words hovered over Booth for an interminable moment. When Cullen was satisfied that they had weighed fully on his agent, he proceeded. "However, I don't like people sitting with their fingers up their sphincters while other people in my city are getting killed. And then running to daddy to tell on somebody else. Manage Agent Perotta's expectations as best as you can. You owe her that for the insubordination episode of this morning, but I want the best on this. And the best is Dr. Brennan." _How does this fit into the ball busting?_ "Now, take Agent Perotta to see the families. She could do with a dose of that particular medicine." _How would you say 'ball busting' for women_?

**********

Booth observed Agent Perotta with a crippling irritation. She adjusted the rear view mirror to check her hair, composed a somber expression and once she was happy with that, replaced the rear view mirror- his freaking rear view mirror- and sauntered into the first family's home, the boy's family. How had she worked her way up to Special Agent he would never know. But if she had trained with him she wouldn't be worrying first about her hair and them about the people whose lives they were about to crush. She would be worrying about not losing her grip on her stomach as he was. She'd be worrying that no one ever knocked on her door to tell her that her kid had been hurt, in any way. She would know that a knock on the door in the early morning was the worst that could happen. He fisted his hands trying to control both his temper and the upheaval in his heart. He caught up with her at the door. It seemed she was only waiting for him, but he could tell, under the façade, the nerves had enormity of what they were about to do had caught up with her.

Booth walked out of the girl's family home feeling like the last of men. It was always like that and the feeling eventually lifted. But for a few painful hours he always felt that he could have done it differently, that he could have, somehow, made it less painful. Which Gordon Gordon would have a field day ragging him about. There it was, he admitted, he had a savior complex. _So what? _There were worse defects to have. His current companion, on the other had, had nearly crawled out of the second house. She had walked into the first one worried about her make up and had walked out of the second knowing exactly why they shouldn't have sat in that diner the day before and, instead, sat in ambush to the killer. It wasn't a mistake she was likely to repeat. He hoped. Still, she looked like the world had crushed on her. Maybe it was that need she had to always be the good girl- that had gone down the drain now. But, he hoped, maybe the enormity of the loss of two lives had impressed itself on her. And that, he knew, was hard going. He took pity on her, which was stupid, he knew. But where he would normally go to Bones- because just breathing the air around her had the power to soothe his nerves- today he resisted the urge, there was Jared after all standing between them, and he tried some replacement therapy. He parked next to a diner.

"Coffee, I'm buying."

He felt better at the wan smile his colleague spared him after coffee and pie. But nothing compared to what Bones always achieved with her mere presence. He felt restless and he wanted to march into the Jeffersonian and ask about their progress. NO. Booth adjusted his tie and belt buckle. NO. He gave himself a few more seconds to make up his mind. NO, NO, NO! _Get a grip, man_. Another deep breath. _Jared_. It would have been easy to hate Jared right there and then. Because of him he now had to stay away from Bones. It had been his due to pay all his life that he had to stand by Jared against the world. No matter who the world was. Friend, family, shrink, Bones... Jared always had to come first. And though it hadn't always been an easy choice, this time, it was excruciating. Like ripping his heart in two- without knowing which half you needed the most- duty to your family or to the person you cared the most about in the whole wide world. Certainly, more that you cared about yourself.

The only way to stop himself from marching into the Jeffersonian was to work up a mad and march in the opposite direction.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's notes- Thank you to MickeyBoggs for being my beta and fitting this story in with all her other stuff.**

**Thank you to all of you following this story. And Thank you to Squibalicious for the constructive criticism and for the geat little "chat". There are still surprises here in FF world!**

**Have a nice weekend**

**Jane**

Chapter 17

The heart has reasons. Sure. If you understand them. Seeley Booth didn't. His mad had taken the wheel- quite literally- and he had driven possessed by the need to hurt someone. His hands gripped the steering wheel with a viselike strength, the veins in his hands pulsing blue under the skin stretched white over the knuckles. He marched into the military detention facility, his teeth bared, the muscles on his face quivering under the anger that he struggled to keep in check. As he was allowed into the same green, moss-like room, still smelling of sweat and wasted hours, Booth felt the need to grab something and put it through a wall. Anything. Any wall. Life was always handling him the worst possible cards. _Never a fucking break_. He paced the cell-like room like a jailed tiger, anger flowing from every pore, every hair. His agitation impaired his senses. Jared walked into the room and waited for his brother to notice him. It was a sixth sense that Seeley had for his younger brother. He had never managed to get the drop on him, so to speak. It surprised Jared to have to call out:  
"Hey big brother" Booth turned instantly as if he had been stung, surprised not to have noticed his brother walk into the room. He had intended to greet his brother, but what came out was more of a low growl.

"Hey sunshine," Jared responded the growl with sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Top of the morning to you too!" He got another growl by way of reply. It had always been so easy to piss Seeley off it was almost indecent. Almost. "Are you OK?" Growl. "You look a bit... tired" There was that Booth trademark smile in Jared's face. And it managed to tick Seeley off in less than a nanosecond.

"No, I'm not fucking OK!" Seeley paced the green room, incapable of standing still. Jared just stayed perfectly still knowing that it would accomplish his goal for the day- pissing his brother off. "How can you sit there, so... so..."

"Calm?"

"Yeah. How can you just sit there? It's dishonorable discharge for you. What are you going to do with your life? I mean, how could you let her pull you into this. How could you have been so fucking stupid, Jar?"

"Well, I thought I could crash at you place for a few years and then get a state pension..."

"Stop pissing around, Jared, this is serious!" And with that, the calm in Jared's voice was all worn out.

"What in fuck's name is your problem? Can't you let me be proud of anything? Why do you feel this compulsion to be the one doing all the fricking saving? I had your back, that's all, just like you had mine every time. I told you I was proud of why I was here. Can't you let me enjoy it?" Jared stood at the table, gripping the solid wood, trying to control his breathing. Trust Seeley to make it all sound stupid and reckless and unworthy. Fuck it.

The older Booth was taken aback. He should say thank you, not lash out at the kid. Well, on the man standing in front of him. It was a man there, no longer the boy he'd had to stand up for for the last 30 odd years of his life. He was as shocked with the sudden transformation from boy to man as if it had physically happened in that second before his eyes. He tried to say he was sorry but the words just wouldn't come out, tied up in a blind knot that wouldn't go down.

"What's gonna happen now, Jared?"

Jared took a deep steadying breath. "Well, they'll do what they have to do and I'll do what they tell me- up to a point- and the world will keep on turning on its axis. This isn't a crisis situation, Seel. Look... It's worth it, OK...." There was a moment of silence while both Booth men tried to digest what had been said and understand what was not. "Though a thank you would be nice. And maybe a key to your place." Peace between the Booth brothers had never been an easy achievement.

"You are not getting a key to my place. I keep my good whiskey there..."

"That's my boy!" And he laughed "How good is it?"

"100 bucks a pop"

"Well, that just might be worth a new life in crime. Did Tempe give it to you?"

"Yeah, she uh.... had mine this one night... well, we did, and the next day she gave me that one."

"So you're still just skirting around her? When are you going to grow a set, huh, Seel?"

"Just shut up, Jared."

"Yeah, 'cause I always did what you wanted. Listen up: if you don't, I'll make my move. She might just go for a more decisive type of Booth. She must be fed up with waiting for you...."

"Shut the hell up. She got you in here. She should have left you out of this."  
"That old chestnut again? Come on, she gave me a better chance than you ever did for Christ's sake. You're just using this, like you used all your other excuses to stay away. Just take the fucking plunge Seel. Man up, already. I can see your vagina from here. "

Seeley Booth felt the return of the compulsion to put a head through a concrete wall. Jared's head. Hell, his own head, if that would stop the sound. And so, as he did with all his compulsions, he grinned, bore it and walked out of the room trying hard not to stomp his feet on his way out. After all, he had been a grown up since he was eight years old.

Dr. Brennan tried to keep her distance from things she couldn't understand. And the things she couldn't understand were mostly people. In that particular instance, dead people. The two teenagers were a fundamental part of an equation she had to solve. But she couldn't make head or tails out of them. There was too much emotion, too much flesh and far too much humanity still in them. The fact that they were cold and blue and mangled did not detract her ability to see them as they had been just a few hours ago. Quite different from her ability to attribute traits to skeletal systems. This was too close to the heart. So she zoomed in as much as she could on the photos of the blood patterns. She compared it with a sequence of x-rays and ultrasound images. There were answers to be had there, she was sure of it. If she could just make out a pattern that could probably give angle of impact, that could possibly give her height. Maybe even tell her if the killer was right or left handed. Best of all, if there was any fundamental movement impairment that would leave a mark of its own. She was not used to working through the flesh. She was used to going straight to the bones. Bones don't lie. But she desperately wanted to make it better for the families. And that meant giving them not only the truth but their children back in a way they could say goodbye and get closure. Empathy was a bitch. She rubbed her head where the beginning of a throbbing headache was storming.

The knock on the door startled her. She looked up to see Agent Peyton Perotta. There was a strangely friendly smile in her cherubic face.

"Hi." There was hesitation in the greeting. Which, given the way their night had progressed was nothing if unusual. A growl or a bark would have made far more sense than the smile in any event.

"Come in, Agent Perotta."

"Why don't you call me Peyton? We're just about the same age and we seem to have a lot in common."  
"Well, because first names imply a familiarity that I'm far from feeling towards you." It wasn't said with the intent to hurt. It was just a very Brennan-like thing to say. But the shocked expression in the agent's face told Brennan that she had put her foot in it again. "And of course that was the wrong thing to say. I'm sorry. But I don't feel comfortable addressing you as Peyton."  
"Well, I'll call you Temperance if it's OK with you." It was perhaps all the weight of all the admonitions about being more personable Booth had ever given, but Brennan felt trapped into allowing the familiarity, forced though it was.

"I'm sorry, I don't have anything relevant to update yet. We are still obtaining images and initiating our observations and -"

"That's not why I'm here... I um... Well, there is no easy way to say this, but... Here's the thing.... I think of both you and Seeley as friends. We've been through a lot together, what with the Gravedigger and all, so I feel like I should say this... Why don't you have a seat?"

"I'm fine, thank you. What is that you came here to tell me?"~  
"Well, it's more of an advice, really. Well you see... Seeley has you in very high regard and he wouldn't tell you this, because that's just the kind of man he is. He is one of the genuinely good guys, don't you think?"  
"Well, yes. Booth is the best person I've ever met," Brennan felt herself walking into a trap. But for the life of her, she couldn't see it. For all her intelligence, for all her brilliance and experience, she couldn't see what it was she was missing.

"I knew you'd agree. And he has a great deal of professional potential as well..." And that was a sure text. Booth was, to her mind, the best Agent who had ever lived. He embodied all the qualities all figures in positions of authority should have- knowledge, empathy, instincts and... well, something else she couldn't quite define so easily. She agreed. Yes, they had that in common.

"Well, the trouble is, he is letting his career be compromised. There are chances passing him by every day."

Peyton Perotta was no fool. She knew her IQ would not measure up to the woman standing in front of her. But she had other weapons. And when push came to shove, the winner was always the one who wanted it more.

"Seeley cannot see the forest for the trees, Temperance. He is so compassionate that he just can't tell you no."  
"Tell me no..."

"Temperance... he was... well, disciplined today because of the little stunt he pulled last night just for your benefit. This case was never meant to be handled here. But Seeley could not resist that thing you do with your eyes. He just caved in. And with each act of insubordination- and I'm not sure you know exactly how many over the years since you began your... uh... partnership- he's been bookmarked as a liability rather than an asset. And his career is just not moving forward." She heard Brennan's sharp intake of breath, the only sign that she had gotten to her. That was one cool customer, she had to give it to her. But she knew the issue was ripe now in Brennan's mind and she moved in to the coup de grace. "I think he deserves better than that, that's all. He needs better than that." And she tapped Brennan's hand in a sisterly act of affection that Brennan was too preoccupied to even notice. "He deserves someone who will support him in his career rather than someone who will drag him down and get him in trouble, shot and screwed more often than not." Brennan heard it too late, the clicking shut of the trap door. "Don't you agree, Temperance?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's note: As always, thank you to MickeyBoggs for reading this through.**

**I would also like to say thank you to Grammar Maven for the point made. There is a part of this chapter that tries to answer that point. **

**Thank you to all of you reviewing and adding this story to favorites and alerts. I'm not sure you know how nice it is to see it happening. Everytime you review is an act of generosity to the author- any author- and it makes us feel appreciated. So THANK YOU!**

**Anyway, on with the story.**

**Jane**

Chapter 18

The blood congealed in gross patterns around the hair, matting the pale blond with red at some spots, caking it in a dark mass at others. The face was a mess. The nose seemed flattened, non-existent, the teeth broken, distorting the pleasant smile that used to live in that pretty face. The lips were swollen and split, just a hint of purple, rigor mortis almost preserving the original light coloring of the face. But the eyes had been gouged out, ceremoniously, precisely, the tongue cut off. The body was twisted at odd, unnatural angles. The metallic smell of blood was intense, but not at all unpleasant. Sort of what satisfaction would smell like if anyone could bottle it and label it a perfume. Even more strikingly, there was no sound, just an eerie calm after the violent storm of blows until all the anger had been sublimated and the body that used to be Agent Perotta laid inert, ready to rot, incapable of uttering a single stinging, manipulative, malevolent word.

"Sweetie?" Brennan acknowledged Angela's presence silently. "You're shaking." Angela tried not to fret. Brennan was not OK but she didn't like the cuddling.

Brennan looked at her shaking hands studiously, incapable of caring, just curious about the movement, almost expecting to see blood on them. "Did you ever feel that you were justified in killing someone?" Her hands balled into fists that she tried to keep steady on her desk, as if trying to keep an eye on them. "An anger, a range so strong that takes over you, that you can't breathe until you have annihilated someone, something so powerful you could literally chew someone to bits and not leave even the bones?" The shaking of her hands worsened. Angela tried to pass her a glass of water, but it was like seeing Brennan have a stroke, because the pale hand just couldn't comprehend the object and apprehend it. She tried to hold Brennan's hand. She wanted to do something to calm her down. Anything. Even just some hand holding. But Brennan pulled her hands and crossed her arms across her chest, trying so hard to control the rage that Angela felt even sorrier for her friend. It wasn't like she could need to ferret the truth out of Brennan, but there was just no way that an explanation would be forthcoming from someone shaking so badly.

"I saw Perotta leaving…" Brennan nodded. "Did she talk to you?" Brennan nodded again. "About the case?"

"No" It didn't surprise Angela. Nothing women did surprised her much, anyway.

"What did she say?" Brennan wanted to answer. But as the satisfying image of Perotta's dead body faded, as the anger Brennan had been holding on to subsided, the knot in her throat wound tighter and tighter making it impossible to answer. Brennan felt her whole face flush with the strength involved in the control of tears. "Let me guess…just nod if she went for the friendly approach." Brennan nodded almost imperceptibly. Angela gave a smug sigh. "OK. Let's see… She told you what a nice guy he is, and what a nice girl you are and that you are a bad influence on him." With each word Brennan sunk a bit more into the chair, feeling that she was losing the battle against tears. "Oh, come on Brenn! Snap out of it, for the love of God!" And she walked around the desk to face Brennan. "You're smarter than that. Even without a drop of social skills. Booth knows what he wants and he takes care of himself. He survived wars without you holding his hand, Brenn. You don't do anything to him that he doesn't want you to do. Perotta is a nice girl, but she just picked up on your weakest point and went for the kill. Are you gonna let her?"

*************

In a dingy room, with dingy windows overlooking two dumpsters, a man sat on his bed. The broken springs of the mattress did not matter. The peeling paint on the once-upon-a-time moss green walls did not matter. The hooker and her john banging against the other side of the dirty wall did not matter. When all was said and done, what mattered was that you were born alone and you died alone. All that was in between, all the huffing and puffing, all the vanities and fears, all the immeasurable disasters and all the supreme glories were reduced the one thing he knew well: dirt. Didn't he know what it was like to be great? Didn't he know what it was like to be one of the fallen? How company followed the money? That only death was the supreme score equalizer? A shudder of anticipation disturbed the otherwise immobile body. The physical pleasure he took out of his mission would soon be exchanged by something better, something grander that he could only anticipate. The smile was a thing of the soul. It did not make it to his face. He was a soul. He still needed his body, this mortal coil. But one day, one day not so far ahead, he wouldn't. They were getting close. He could smell them. He could see them in the back of his mind, approaching. And it was a good thing too. He was growing weary and impatient. His mission was nearly at an end. Except for that one final, fragile detail. It would come to pass. They would release him. A soul knows these things.

So, though the walls shook with the violence of the trains going by in the background, though the screams of fake pleasure of the sad old hooker next door trying to please her miserable john grew in pitch, though the kids outside made sleep impossible with their bouncing basketball hammering against the concrete, the man sitting on the filthy mattress remained still, undisturbed until it was time to complete one more step of his mission.

****************

Apple pie was bland, fattening and lacked the redeeming quality of chocolate fudge cake- richness and depth of flavor. Soul comfort. Still, she leaned into it and took one more bite. There was some pull towards it. Perhaps the way his breath nearly always smelled of apples, a subtle aroma that made her want to kiss him. All the time. And dream about him too. Perhaps she had, after all, an addictive personality and it was just lucky that she had never taken up smoking.

She ran her hand through her hair. What was there to feel embarrassed about? It was always clean and brushed, and smelled nice. She made sure of it. Same with the smooth skin and bright eyes. Than why did she feel that it was insufficient for him? She put her hand down and looked at the apple pie again, sighing. She should have ordered chocolate fudge cake. Which was fattening and not the most dignified thing to be caught gorging on. Apple pie was more civilized.

She was a good girl. Generally. She tried to defend the weak and uphold the law. But, right now, she deserved to eat apple pie for the rest of her life. Never again to be allowed close to chocolate fudge cake. Not even a chocolate brownie. She felt guilty about her little stunt with Brennan. Who was also a good girl, all things considered. But what if she couldn't help but want, really want, Seeley Booth? If it was in her nature to go after what she wanted? And nothing had ever come easy to her. She had always been _almost_ there, never _quite_ reaching it. She was never the main character in the story. Always the secondary character that no one knows what happened in the end of the film. Or, in that stupidly colorful expression, _always the bridesmaid, never the bride_. There wasn't even a stereotype for her if she did not take the wicked witch of the west one. Yes, she felt guilty. But her hands were tied. The woman didn't even know if she wanted Booth or not. It was unfair, because she knew that she wanted him and that she could make him happy. If only he saw her there.

Then why did she feel guilty? Why did she feel that she had gone just a bit too far? Why did it make her feel so bad to remember the shine of tears in Dr Brennan's blue eyes?

Peyton Perotta sighed under the weight of guilt and as she pushed one more bite of apple pie into her mouth, the thought in her head was pretty much similar to what Brennan had been thinking that morning. Empathy was truly a bitch!

***************

There are things that are more difficult to swallow than others. It is particularly difficult to accept that, for years, you have been laboring under a misapprehension. That you have been wrong for so long that you have actually wronged someone, stopped them on their way to being a better person. Hell, it was as difficult to swallow that as saying _I'm sorry._ Pride was a sin. One that he was going to burn for. And still, it was far more difficult to know that he'd been clinging to straws in some other matters. Going on fumes, as it were. Again, for years as well. Maybe it was some general handicap with his brain that he couldn't see what was plain and obvious. Some sort of mental shortsightedness. Plus, Jared was right. He did have a savior complex. Surely Sweets would explain it as a mechanism to compensate for his father's lack of care-giving qualities, which would be right if he were ever to tell the tale to the boy. He had sat through sufficient psychology classes to know. But none of it explained why he had to be so stubborn. He had seen the signs and the shy looks, heard the sighs and the none-too-subtle hints that she was ready to give things a try. For pity's sake, he had felt her arms close convulsively around him when she pulled him off the already exploding ship that would have been his end if she hadn't been more observant and trusting of his brother that he ever was.

And if he had been man enough to scrutinize the reflection in the mirror like he did others, he would have seen that he was more than ready too. That resistance was futile. And stupid because it didn't do anyone any good. He punched the steering wheel violently, deploying the horn into a continuous brain melting sound. _Fuck! Never a fucking break_! He pulled over, his forehead covered in a nervous sheen of sweat. He couldn't do anything right, lately. He had been squashing his little brother under his authoritative boot and breaking Bones' heart because he didn't know his own, cooking her along in that chronic indefinition of his. Hell, give him a few more years and he might be messing up Parker too just for good measure. Jesus, what a mess. What a fucking mess.

He picked up the mobile and hit speed dial 1 and passed on the dusty road waiting for her voice on the other side.

"Booth!" He would have liked to have heard the tone in her voice. Was it upset? Hopeful? Did it have anything else in it that he had never seen? The noise of the cars on the speeding lane was overpowering and he could hear only at brief intervals.

"Bones, listen…" But the horns of angry motorists were blaring at a man passing angrily outside his car on a main highway. Booth covered his ear trying to make out the replies on the other side. There wasn't much chance of that. He glared at a motorist slowing down to give him the finger and one more earful of his shrill horn. "You wanna move along there, friend, before I throw you in slammer for the night?" Booth pulled out his badge for illustration purposes. The motorist did drive along, but not without one final defiant blare of the horn. Booth felt his heart rate accelerate in anger and frustration and self disappointment. He felt it seeping through his voice. "Listen, Bones, we need to talk. There's something that I should have told you before and..." There was silence on the other side of the line. In a reflex gesture, he looked at the phone's screen. Off. The damned phone was off. _No batteries, Azziz_. Shit. Shit. Shit. He couldn't help himself. He tossed the phone into the thorny shrubs on the side of the road.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's note: As we approach the final stretch of this story, I must say this: Thank you to all of you reading and reviewing. I am seriously in your debt. You have made my days very exciting with your kind reviews and suggestions and PMs. In that very American expression, **_**You rock!**_

**Thank you to MickeyBoggs who proofreads all of this. **

**Jane**

Chapter 19

"Dr. B!" There was a sound of rubber soled shoes rushing down the platform and into her office. "Dr. B!" Hodgins' voice had a strong inflection of urgency to it. "I've got something, Dr. B!" But Brennan just couldn't move. She was rooted to her chair, her blood coursing thick and chilled in her veins. She couldn't bring herself under control in time to reply before Hodgins made his appearance through the door looking frazzled. It occurred to her that Jack never looked frazzled, but her brain did not dwell on the meaning of the fact. It was stuck on the blood curdling sound of Booth's voice over the phone. _We need to talk_ and then silence. He had hung up on her and she couldn't quite get her head around it. Booth always spoke to her, always had time for her. And he never spoke to her in that tone. Even when he was upset with her tirades, there was never that tone of finality. It probably wouldn't have been that bad if the only connection made by her brain had not been to her conversation with Agent Perotta. And suddenly it was clear: he had made up his mind and was not forgiving her for what had happened to Jared. And because of that, he wanted to sever their partnership, to get rid of her. Which was the one thing she could not bear to lose.

"Dr. Brennan?" Hodgins walked to her desk, unsure. "Dr. Brennan, I've found traces of palmitate, palmitoleate, hydoxypalmitate , oleate esters and aliphatic alcohols on the remains of these two victims." Brennan fought through the fog of fear to comprehend Hodgins' words. "Bees' wax. None of the coroner's reports- or the FBI forensics lab- ever mentioned it, but I'll bet you my Mini Cooper that it was there to be found. And none of that commercial stuff either. It's the good stuff. Pure- no additives- and hardly any processing. Organic you could say. Gorgeous stuff. Not commonly sold, either." Hodgins hesitated, midway through a winning "king of the lab" smile. Clearly, his information did not have the impact he'd been expecting. Only that morning Brennan had put bone-crushing pressure on them to get anything on this and now not even a word, not even an expression of interest on her face. It was like she was in a trance. And a dangerous trance, because she hardly remembered to breathe. He walked around the desk and approached Brennan's immobile form. "Come on Dr. B, snap out of it" It was only when he took the cell phone still tightly clutched in her hand that she registered his presence.

"Are you OK, Dr. Brennan?" She hated pity- and that was unmistakably what she saw in Hodgin's eyes. Pity.

"Yes. You were saying that you found bees' wax." She cleared her throat trying to push the knot down to a place in her larynx where she could actually talk without sounding like a broken violin. "What's the significance of that fact?"

"Dr. B, I can get you facts, but you need to do significance bit yourself. Maybe Angela can get names of producers and from there get to any buyers. The only thing more that I can tell you is that the predominant diet of the bees was acacia. I can narrow down possible areas, maybe even narrow down time of harvest of the wax, but the rest is up to you. Dr. Brennan, are you OK?"

Why was it that people always asked you that whenever they thought you were not OK? She was not OK. Her heart actually felt broken. She had always thought of that expression as a literary device- a trite one, for that matter. But what else was that pain under her ribcage, that ripping sensation where her heart was located? There was no physiological reason for that. Facts. She needed facts. Facts were safe and comforting. So she turned to facts, to logic.

"Is it likely that the bees' wax has been deposited by the murder weapon?"

"I don't see any possible alternative scenario."

"OK, that narrows down the variables as much as you can. Get this information to Angela. Get her any help she might need narrowing down the field. I want to know who produces, who sells and to whom they sell. I think that the murderer is using something like a baseball bat. So let's assume, for the sake of argument, that I'm right. Cross-reference any known criminals with a preference for blunt instruments. Angela can get access the FBI and Washington DC police department databases. We know that. Tell her to do it again. If there is a problem, tell them it was me. Check also baseball players, coaches, wannabe players and coaches- anyone with a grudge or a mental problem or who is just unaccounted for. That would be where I would start, but do not exclude anyone. Get anyone you can think off, Jack. This," she lifted the photos of the young couple from her desk, "is going to happen again. Very soon. We need to stop it."

"Whoa, you look very sexy when you get all decisive on me, Dr. B." It took him one look at Brennan to realize he had gone just a tad too far. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan, I didn't mean it like that..." and he walked out the door aiming for the discreet movement, hugging the shadows of the office. "You know what?" And he turned for effect. "I'm not sorry. That look suits you!" And he walked out the door, leaving behind a temporarily stunned Brennan.

*************************

Booth stalked into his apartment nursing his hand and his ego. The skin on his hand was shredded by the thorns on the bush he had tossed his cell into. His ego was bruised by the whole afternoon: kneeling ass-up on the bush to retrieve his cell- which was federal property, trying to disengage the horn on his SVU- to no avail, walking into the FBI body shop to have it fixed- only to see a kid barely out of school disarm it with the touch of a finger. Literally. Would he ever live it down?

It was now past eight o'clock, nearly dark and still hadn't had the chance to get Brennan and talk things over with her._ Never a fucking break!_ He walked to the phone and was stupid enough to pick the voice mail before calling her. It was Perotta's voice _Where are you, Seeley? Your cell is off. There was tac team meet at 6pm. We go on stake out tonight. You're teamed with me, civilian vehicle, Georgetown Waterfront Park- by the river walk. Tac team is already in position. There are two more units in civilian cars at the same location. _How long ago had that been? Nearly 90 minutes. _Crap_. And he hadn't even gotten any sleep since what seemed like forever. And there was still that conversation with Brennan though he needed a lot of time for _that_ particular issue. He hit speed dial 1, even knowing that he was late as sour milk

She answered on the second ring.

"Brennan"

"Bones, it's me. Listen, we really need to talk, but I'm on duty tonight with Perotta. But we really, really need to talk."

"Do we?" What was that tone in her voice? Was it defensive?

"Yes. And we need time, so I'll call you tomorrow, OK?"

"OK. Booth? We have something on the murderer. Give us a few minutes and we can turn it into useful information for you."

"Bones, yesterday we waited and today we have two dead kids in our hands. I can't wait. I'm late enough as it is. Call me if when you get that. I need to go, OK?" he hung up before she could say anything else. She looked studied the images of the CAT scan again. The answer was there. She knew it in her bones.

***************************

The phone on her desk startled Brennan from her intense study of the CAT scan images. The frustration of working with scanned images -or any other images- rather than having direct access to the bones was having its effect on her nerves. It always did. It took several rings until she understood where the irritating sound was coming from. One look at the screen told her it was an internal call. She hit the loudspeaker button.

"Yes, Angela?"

"I know you want me to work on the beeswax thing, but you need to come down to my office, I got something to show you." Brennan looked skeptical at the phone, taking her eyes from the images on her screen for the first time. "Trust me sweetie, you wanna come and see this. Plus, I'm already working on the beeswax."

Brennan walked into Angela's darkened office. The Angelator was already alight.

"OK," Angela spoke from her desk, concentrating on her screen, "Let it be known that I want a pay raise. Significant one, sweetie. I am multitasking here and I haven't slept in 2 days. Plus, I have the goods for you." She paused for effect. "Turns out it's not difficult to locate the beeswax producer. Long story short, we know exactly who produced the one with the exact composition Hodgins found. Small artesian stuff. Very happy to provide samples. It's going to take longer to get to the buyers. Lots of layers to peel. But this," She pointed at the illuminated Angelator, "you're going to find useful."

The car Brennan had seen only that night materialized in the center of the Angelator, then the victims. Brennan recoiled knowing what Angela would show her and she was grateful that the artist had decided not to give them faces. It was more like observing crash test dummies rather than people. Empathy was a bitch. This case was far too close for comfort. The animated figure of a human approached the animated car, a baseball bat hanging in its hand. The first scenario was the traditional swinging. Brennan confirmed her reasoning. The damage to the bodies of victims would be nearly non-existent while the damage to the vehicle would considerable- mostly to the hood and windshield.

"I know, sweetie, I know. This is not what you think happened, anyway. But let's check scenario two." The animated killer plunged the bat- much to the semblance of Brennan's theory. The damage to the car was non-existent, the damage to the victims, considerable. And yet, when there was something did not quite make sense. The angle of impact had to be wrong. She looked at Angela ready to ask her to recalculate. "No, sweetie, no need to say it. But I'm not wrong. Even accounting for variable heights, the angle of impact on the victims is always the same- a 39 degree angle. What varies is the height at which the victims' heads were- which depended on their height. Which means that our killer always batted in the same angle." Angela paused and waited for Brennan to do her own mental calculations. She pulled the crash test dummy killer into the foreground of the Angelator and eliminated car and victims.

"Ange, the angle of impact is all wrong. It's something with his elbow joint. He always aims at the same angle. A dropping angle. There must be something with the elbow. A callus on the cartilage. What could cause that kind of damage? Repetitive motion injury."

"Sports injury. Didn't you mention something about disgruntled baseball players and coaches?"

"Yes, but I wasn't sure until now. Injury like that, he won't be able to straighten his arm. It will stand out. I need to tell Booth." And she was already running out of the door, hitting speed dial 1. Straight to voice mail. Did he have his cell off? That was strange. He never did that. Not even on a stake out. Not a stake out with her, anyway. But this time, the stake out- her stake out- was with Perotta. Blood chilled on her veins as the other woman's name resounded in her heart. From that thought to remembering that he wanted to sever their partnership was a just a little leap. And her heart remembered that it was broken. No Booth in her life was an impossible thought for so many reasons that took too long to enumerate. She tried his number again. She had to tell him what the killer looked like. He was out there, trying to get him. But so far, the killer had always been one step ahead. She stopped breathing. What if the killer managed to surprise Booth? That swing, angled though it might be, had a devastating, lethal force behind it. She had to go to him. She had to let him know, she had to give him all that she had on that guy.

She had to protect him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's note: I was away for a long, long time. Combination of factors, really: my boss- shame on her- decided she is going to check everything we do on the internet during work hours- pfft! And then we changed providers for our home connection – and that did not go smoothly- because sod's law is alive and well. But during that time, I was not idle, no sir, so this story is completed and thanks to MickeyBoogs- who is officially made of greatness all the chapters- safe for the epilogue- are ready.**

**So, don't be shy- or stingy with your words- and tell me what you think.**

**I am going to use this space to say thank you to all of you who have commented- and have not received a reply- explanation above still applies- and sent PMs. Also, thank you to Iamladyliberty who, without knowing, gave a nice push in a day I was bogged down with pesky life stuff.**

**(God, I went on for a while, huh?) **

**So, here it is. Enjoy. Review.**

**Jane**

Chapter 20

The slight man held a suede cloth and dipped it in the handcrafted pot of beeswax. The honey-like scent filled his nostrils and gave him the customary heady feeling, part of ritual, part of the pleasure. Everything had its place in life, there was an order to all things. Rituals were soothing because they brought everything together under that sense of order. The beeswax warmed in the window sill, rubbed into the suede cloth and then rubbed into his beloved bat was one of those rituals. His father had cherished the rolling of a cigarette above anything else. And for so long, the smell of the loose tobacco when the pack opened, the slight thrusting of the rolling paper and tiny whoosh of the match scratching into light were as sacred to him as to his father. He had no one to share his little ritual with. You are born alone and you die alone. He was going to die alone. He didn't quite feel sad. Death was but a beginning. And a welcome one too. His task was wearing him out. But they were coming. He knew it. And they'd strip him of his garments, and place him upon the cross. That had to come to pass. It was a ritual for the chosen sons of God. But then they would know about him. That he was the chosen one and he that he would be sitting with the Father, that those who had forsaken him would be beyond salvation.

He had nearly completed his task. There was one more soul to set free. And then it would be time to rest. Let them come. He was ready.

************************************

Brennan tried again and again. Out of stubbornness, she supposed, but she tried. There was no answer, only his _Booth. Do your thing_ from his cell voice mail greeting. She paced. Where were they tonight? She looked for a copy of the CD Angela and Hodgins had prepared with the virtual map of DC. Where was the stupid thing? She hit the numbers for Angela's extension.

"Do you have a copy of that map you prepared for Booth?"

"Check the database for the file on this case. It's there and it runs faster now. Sweetie, what are you going to do?"  
"Not now, Ange, please!"

"Brenn, please don't do anything stupid!" She should have answered. She knew she should. But there was a gap between what the sociable side of her brain was telling her and what the emotional side, the one that dictated that this was an emergency kept on yelling at her. She put the phone down. She accessed the file and called up the file she needed. Angela had improved it with satellite images of the terrain. Her finger traced an imaginary line on the map and settled on Georgetown Waterfront Park. It would be there. If there was such a thing as _your heart telling you_ her heart told her that that was it. But where? Georgetown Waterfront Park was huge and there were so many possible places, so many dark, isolated beauty spots. Frustration flowed through her veins quicker than blood.

"Hodgins." The moment she uttered the name, her decision was made. She yelled "Hodgins!" And not waiting from him to come to her, she got up from her chair and sped through the lab, trying at the same time to get out of her lab coat. "Hodgins!" People were starting to come to their doors, curious as to what the commotion was. If Dr. Brennan was shouting, there was surely a commotion. Hodgins appeared with lab goggles still on his face, trying to remove protective gloves and looking very compromised.

"I'm here, I'm here. What's the rush?"

"You're coming with me." The lab coat had finally obliged and pealed off of her. It took Hodgins a third of a second to react. He tossed all his gear on the floor and grinned ear to ear.

"Sure. Where's the fire?" He was trailing after Brennan while simultaneously trying to remove his lab coat when Angela found them.

"Sweetie, Hodgy, where are you going?" Hodgins shrugged. "Sweetie, please, please, please, don't do anything stupid!" But Brennan was already busy dictating instructions.

"Ange, keep trying Booth. Tell him what we're looking for. Jack, you're coming with me. The park is too big, I need help locating him." Hodgins was beaming at her. Brennan gave him a pointedly intimidating _What?_ look

"Told you: sexy." Brennan just turned on her heel and ignoring Jack, walked towards the exit of the garage. She still heard Angela shouting on her back:  
"Sweetie, please be careful! Hodgy, you bring her back in one piece or I'll skin you alive, you hear?" He did hear her, so he threw her a smiley wave and marched right behind Brennan.

When she made to go into her car, Hodgins pulled her by the arm and nearly regretted it when Brennan gave him a killer _don't stand in my way_ look.

"Let's take mine." He pointed at his car. "I've been dying to use this baby in a serious way. It has a few tricks up its sleeve that might be useful." His grin illuminated his face, only slightly crazy in Brennan's estimation. "Just promise me that I can bring you to Angela in one piece so that I can get to keep my skin." Still, if she was going head first into something dangerous without Booth, Jack was her best option. As he pressed the key in his hand, the head lights of a dark Mercedes blinked twice and the car unlocked. The windows were tinted nearly black. Not that anyone would be looking at that car twice. It looked ancient. Co_rrection. _It looked old, as heavy as the wing of an airplane. But she did not hesitate to go in.

"I don't know why Ange is so worried. I've got my gun." And she opened her purse and took out a small gun. She gave it the once over, checking the security and aiming, checking the balance. Satisfied, she put it in her belt.

"Wow! I heard from a secure source that you were packing a cannon. I have to say, I'm slightly deflated now." As he pulled out of the underground parking space, the tires squeaked violently and he pushed the car to the limit of each gear. It was like sitting inside a race car. Brennan took the opportunity to study the car. It may have looked like a piece of scrap from the outside, but inside? It looked like a war tank. There was a general feeling of being inside an armored car.

"Check the glove compartment, Dr. B." The shy light of the compartment came on to reveal an assortment of goodies: binoculars, a stun gun, a gun, an electronic device she didn't immediately recognize and a camera. She gave Hodgins a look that was somewhere between amazement, shock and incredulity. "Told you: this baby has a few tricks up its sleeve. And that's not nearly all. The windows are shatter proof, bullet proof, the body is fire and bullet proof- and knowing what we're up against, I'd say that's all good news. The engine has a few surprises as well but one my favorites is this baby." And he pressed the button on what Brennan had assumed to be the sat nav system. A few buttons pressed and the screen illuminated in the ghostly green of the night camera mood. "This baby here is a prototype. It's connected to a camera- which has night vision as you can see and- _ta dah!_ heat recognition device. God, I love this baby." Brennan was still in shock. She could merely open her mouth in the hope of something intelligible coming out. "They're out there, Dr B, and one of these days I'm gonna get proof! Plus, I knew it would come in handy one of these days. Who's the daddy now, huh? Man, I feel like Bond, James Bond, real chase and all."

Booth sat shotgun. He was sure the killer would go straight to that side of the car. Or was it that he targeted women first, no matter where they were sitting? Or was it all random? He tried his best to get two absolute irritations under control. The first was Perotta. Why couldn't she just shut the hell up? What was it with the chatting and fidgeting and the hands stroking her hair? And apple pie for a stake out where they were more than likely going to be seeing some violent action? What was she thinking? Picnics in the park?_ Never a fucking break._ Give him Charlie any day of the week, any rookie and he'd be happier. But Perotta? Knowing women, he couldn't even tell her to just shut up. He was gonna hurt her _woman_ feelings and then he would have to apologize and then she'd know she owned his ass and all manner of complications would ensue. Why was it that women were not built with a simpler design? Man, he loved women. He truly did. He appreciated the genre, visually and mentally. Works of art, all of them. But mostly, one at a time. Bones and Perotta together on a case? It was like speaking two foreign languages at the same time, juggling the emotions and the mental architecture of two women. Hard work. And he liked to keep it simple. He was a simple guy, after all. Having to deal with Bones and Perotta was more than he could handle. And it was giving him a headache. So he tuned out Perotta, much the same way he tuned out the noise of the convenience store directly beneath his apartment or the noise of the cars outside his bedroom window. Then, there was the small matter that he still had a heart to heart to have with Bones. And God only knew how she would deal with that particular subject. One more headache. But one that could not be tuned out like the incessant chatter of his current blond companion. That particular conversation with Bones needed to be plotted, outlined, rehearsed and studied because he owed her that much. He sighed deeply. _Never a fucking break!_

_Man proposes and God disposes_, as the bitch that styled herself his mother had in the habit of saying with her eyes fixed to the sky- as if that's where heaven was. For so long he had huffed and puffed to get to where he was today and always failed miserably. All the effort, all the money, all the tears had been in vain and led him to nothing but heartache and loss. The moment he had put his fate in the hands of God, the moment he had decided to fill his destiny and bowed to His will, everything had fallen into place. And this was the will of God.

As he looked around, as he studied the terrain, he saw them. They had finally come for him. As he had been told they would. There was still work to do. The path was not yet winding to an end and he would still need to walk it a bit more. Jesus had stumbled and fallen three times. And so had he. Now, the daughters of Jerusalem would come to him. And he would still talk to the good thief and welcome him into heaven. And he would still hear the unrepentant thief and damn him to hell. Yes, it would all come to pass. He had been told so. And then he would sit on God's right side, His most cherished son.

Just a little while longer until his via dolorosa was completed and his would be the power over life.

"Slowly now, Jack"

"Man, my heart is beating like I'm on something. My palms are sweating but I swear, I'm loving it."

"Adrenaline is quite addictive."

"No shit..." And he spared Brennan a glance, just checking her position. It just wouldn't do if she knocked him out now for taking too many liberties with her. It would just be like being close and then not orgasming. _Man, get a grip on the sex thoughts, boy! No wonder Dr. B. just blossomed after she started going out with Booth_. Life outside the lab was just one big wet dream of action-induced adrenaline. Maybe he should reconsider his career choice.

As it was, Brennan did not mind. Her own hands were sweating. She could feel the pull of adrenaline to jump into action. Too many angles to consider: Jack was there because she had asked him. She had to keep him safe. Booth was out there: she had to keep him safe. Even Perotta. If push came to shove, she would have to keep her safe too. Empathy was a bitch. Besides, there was the slight problem that DNA created us equal- At least mitochondrial DNA. And you couldn't just dismiss a life just like yours- without a sense of being evil and unworthy. Yes, DNA was a bitch. Empathy was a bitch.

As Jack slid gracefully- and mercifully silently- rear end first into the parking area by the lake, she adjusted his little toy and concentrated on the night vision. She tried again Booth's cell only to get his voice mail standard message. The camera registered no movement.

"Are you sure this works?" She pointed her chin at the Sat nav looking contraption.

"Oh, yeah. It's Iranian made. Those dudes know a thing or two about their tech aids. Trust me Dr. B. It works."

It wasn't really about trust, though, was it? She still had no idea where Booth was, in the huge dark space that was Georgetown Waterfront Park- as that scared her to no limit. She had no idea where the killer was positioned to strike- except she knew he was- and she didn't know if there were any truly civilian cars in the park or only those of trained agents. So she sighed and did what she did best- she compartmentalized each danger and each fear- keeping them all tidily separated, all comparatively small to the multi-headed monster of unbridled fears of a few minutes before. She breathed in deeply and scrunched her nose in concentration observing the helpful little green screen of the Iranian night vision system.

Agent Carlos Mendez saw him first. There, on the thermic imaging screen, he saw him. His heart thumped in his chest very closely to what a heart attack should feel like. So he stammered until he got himself in check. He raised his hand in the air inside the darkened tech support van forgetting that, one, he was not still in high school and, two, that it was too dark for anyone to see him.

"I got him." The first sound came constricted by bundle of nerves that had formed at the entrance of his throat. He tried again, louder. "Got him. I got him sir... ma'am," he stammered as Agent DiSalvo- his own private wet dream- approached to confirm. Her finger pressed into the ear piece. Her own adrenaline levels shooting through the roof.

"Attention all units, we have a visual on a possible target." Was she screaming on the com sys? She tried to get a grip- lives depended on her now. "Walking towards check point 5. Unit 4, that ETA two minutes from you." Then she spotted something else. "What the fuck?" Puzzled, she bumped Agent Mendez. "Switch to night vision mode, zoom in, same angle, at your 11o'clock. What the fuck is _that_?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's note: Again, thank you to MickeyBoggs for her betaing skills.**

**Enjoy**

**Jane**

Chapter 21

_That_ was Hodgins car. At the same time Agent DiSalvo recognized a target on the heat recognition device, Dr. Hodgins recognized a killer in his rear view mirror. His hand touched Brennan's nervous knee and pointed at the mirror. Her fidgeting immediately ceased, suppressed by intent concentration. Now she had a visual confirmation of what the Angelator had shown her. She just couldn't conciliate that slight man, that seemingly harmless man with his elbow permanently frozen in an angle that had no business in a human arm, pulling it slightly up, perpendicular to his back with a serial killer, with the victims she had seen him leaving behind. And that face, how could that be the face of a killer? It looked so peaceful, as if he were merely taking a walk in the park. Her hand reached for the door. Hodgins stopped her.

"In the act. We have to get him in the act."  
"In the act?" She asked almost stupidly. "In the act?" She repeated as indignation grew.

"Yes. All that we have is circumstantial."  
"We'll have the bat."

"Trust them, Dr. B. Trust Booth." And his hand held her arm in persuasion. _Trust Booth... Right_... That, she did. What she couldn't do was just stand by seeing that small figure of a man with murder on his mind walking to Booth. She wanted to get out of the car and beat him to the floor. Beat him until what he did to those kids she had yet to return to their parents made some sort of sense. Beat him until she was sure he would never hurt anyone again. She had no empathy to be wasted on him. Her heart accelerated until it was the only sound she could hear drumming in her ears. The man walked past Hodgins' tinted windowed car, spared it a second glance that had Hodgins grabbing a tight hold on a .22 and pointing it discreetly under his crossed arms. As the man inched forward, he became both visible through the windshield, directly in their line of vision and in the night vision camera. Brennan watched in quiet horror as he made his way towards a car she had no idea was occupied by Booth or not. She wanted to yell out a warning, do something- anything- just to make sure Booth saw him coming. She had no doubt he could defend himself if he saw it coming. But what if he was distracted? Perotta was in the car with him. What if he was distracted with her? She searched the car for a weapon. A gun, a tire iron, a wheel lock. Anything she could use if Booth wasn't paying attention. She pulled the glove compartment open and blindly rooted through the _goodies_ Hodgins had packed as if violence was a Sunday picnic. Her hands grabbed the only recognizable shape: a .38. She could do with something bigger, a cannon wouldn't be a bad thing. She had her own .45 in her purse but she couldn't find it without taking her eyes off of the movement of the man and that she couldn't afford that. Her hands checked that the security lock was off and the gun made its waking up noise that seemed to echo through the ominously silent night.

Booth was busy tuning out Perrota, busy plotting his conversation with Bones but he saw the man walking towards him. He heard Agent DiSalvo's _What the fuck is that_ and he saw the man walking past a car. _How the fuck in fuck's name did that fucking car get here? _Civilian cars were supposed to be screened and discreetly told the Georgetown Waterfront was off limits for the night. His heart thrummed loudly and his mind focused on the man walking: thin and wiry, yes. Not the look of a baseball bat killer. He had expected someone bulky and built like a china cupboard. But thin and wiry and fragile looking men could sometimes pull killing strength out of nowhere. The bat hanging on his right hand side was the tell. It hung there as a separate entity, calm and poised for violence. Both bat and man were on a mission. A killing mission.

When the man walked past the civilian car, Booth cocked his gun and did a quick math: getting out of the car, aiming, shooting, saving the stupid couple that managed to get through the tac team perimeter. His hand jumped to the door handle when he saw the killer spare a second glance at the car. Perotta grabbed his arm.

"In the act, Seeley. We need to catch him in the act." Booth couldn't say what ticked him off the most, if it was that she grabbed his arm when he had his gun cocked, that she delayed his getting out of the car movement or that she called him Seeley. Whichever one it was, it made him growl. Made him loose the fragile grip on his temper he had had all day godforsaken day.

"Just. Shut. The. Hell. Up." _Thank God there's no time for subtleties_ because right then he had the subtlety of an elephant on the high wire. He trained his eyes on the slow advancing figure, on the bat at his side. Perotta quieted down and even the tac team went dead silent on the radio. There was the crackling sound of the night full of near future events. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. This was it. This was really it.

_This is it. They are all in place. The Daughters of Israel, the good and bad thief, the crowd, the cross. And this Golgotha. _

He moved forward towards the black car. It was his mission, his destiny, but he was still scared. Even Jesus had been. He walked until he could see the occupants of the car clearly: one of the daughters of Israel and the good thief. He saw them clearly, as if it was daylight, as if all his senses were more awake, more acute and his soul rejoiced. God was on his side, God compelled him. And it was his final pleasure- so much more than any of the orgasms he had experienced when he killed to fulfill the will of God. It was a pure experience, it was rapture. He advanced towards the good thief and smiled. The good thief would see him and recognize him. And he would show him the path of heaven.

What happened next took the quality of surreal slow motion. Booth saw a killer walking towards him and knock on the window of his side of the car. As if he knew he was waiting.

Brennan saw killer approaching the car unstopped, in the open and the bat swing up. She had no idea if she would be able to aim and shoot without harming whoever was in the car.

Agent Mendez stared at his blue and read heat recognition screen absurdly aware that the scene in front of him was not one of his video games, that death was hovering, waiting to take people. Possibly, people he knew and admired.

And in a swirl of ecstasy, a man that heard God telling him to kill, smiled at Booth and told him _this is me, recognize me, follow me_ and swung his trusted bat at Booth. The sound of the female scream startled him. It echoed through the night and was painfully loud in his ears _Booooooooooth_ and it stretched and stretched until it was right behind him.

That second of hesitation, Agent DiSalvo would later write in her report of the events, saved Agent Booth who was still unfurling from the car, gun in hand and aiming at the target.

It was stupidly paralyzing, but the only thing in her mind at that moment was that someone was going to knock on her mother's door in a few hours and tell her that her daughter had been killed in action, just like she had to do earlier that morning, hardly a day ago. That would be her punishment. _Here Lies Peyton Perotta_ and her mother crying over a white marble stone. In her paralyzed stupor, Agent Perotta could only watch as the bat swung up and in that microsecond of hesitation, the target looked backwards towards two dark figures running towards her car. Sounds seemed distorted. She could have sworn she heard Brennan screaming. But it couldn't be, could it, because she didn't know where they were. She hadn't told her or anyone at the Jeffersonian. She had been very careful in that. So why was Brennan running and screaming _Booooth_?

Hodgins ran behind Brennan. He was trying to catch up with her long strides, his shorter legs struggling to keep pace, a gun he'd forgotten he was holding hanging loosely in his hand. And all he could see was the bat, already held in an angle that was more than mathematical calculations, more than the Angelator's simulations- it was an obscene reality.

The man with the locked elbow, that same elbow that hurt every damned day of his miserable life saw one of the daughters of Jerusalem running to him. But she was not shouting his name and she was not smiling at him. She was screaming an unknown name and her face was locked in a mask of fear. He did not want to see fear in that face. He wanted to see rapture at her recognizing God's lamb sent to deliver her. It startled him, that unexpected face. He saw her coming close, waited for her to be close enough and plunged the bat as best, as far and as hard as he could.

Brennan felt something hit her right below her sternum. She felt the air going out of her in a whoosh and a force pushing her down onto the floor. She saw the killer's face close, so close. She placed it in an overlap with the images of the dead kids still in Cam's autopsy table, of Angela working with makeup trying to minimize the damage to the young faces so that they could be returned to their parents with some semblance of what they had been in life. She saw Booth raise his arm and take aim. And then everything faded into a pain free muted blackness.

It had surprised him. He had known he was walking his final steps that night. His final mortal steps. But it had surprised him that the good thief had turned on him, that the daughters of Israel had not come adoringly to him. It surprised him nearly as much that quick explosion of sound that had echoed through the night. It surprised him that red hot heat that spread from his head to his soul. But none of it was nearly as bad as looking around for the benign face of God, his shepherd and not finding it. His last ever feeling was one he knew well. Betrayal.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's note: Thank you for all your kind reviews and comments. Thank you as well to the lovely MickeyBoggs for the revisions and her time and patience. **

**Jane**

Chapter 22

Three shots sounded nearly at the same time followed by their echo returned to them by the night. Three shots. Where had three shots come from? And why was he worrying about that? Had he really shot a man? And why was Brennan lying on the floor? What was Angela going to do to him? He should have shot first. Right when he recognized the freaking bat. Why wait for concrete evidence? Why were lawyers such bastards that they refused to go in with less than a sure thing? Circumstantial should have been good enough. But he had taken a man's life, hadn't he? And why was she not getting up? She was a toughie, so why didn't she get up?

.

_Oh God. I didn't get to apologize._ Perotta had gotten out of the car, her face ashen, pulled from her paralysis by the reverberation of the shots in her head. Brennan was laying on the floor and she hadn't apologized. She would never be rid of that guilt.

.

Agent Mendez instinctively reached for his ear piece. He didn't know why, it was silly, pressing it against his ear did not improve sound quality. But it was instinct. He called for back up. Officer down, officer down. Which was also stupid, but the scene playing out in his heat recognition system was so much like a movie that movie lines were the only thing on his mind. Besides, he excused himself, emergency teams always acted faster when it was an officer down. The he sat down and waited as the red on the images on the floor slowly lost theirbrilliance.

.

Agent DiSalvo still held her gun in firing position. She had climbed out of the van once she saw the civilian running from the car. Her hands had taken her side arm, cocked it and aimed all while she was running out of the tac team van. Her hands were now shaking. Now that the man was on the ground, now that three shots had been heard she took a moment to think that she had probably killed a man. And mourn it, because this was her first kill, and it was one too many. But when she'd heard the panic in that still echoing _Booooooth_ she had realized it wasn't just any civilian. It was Agent Booth's partner, a woman who was more than a name, who was a face and a sound and an opinion. Someone she had seen before and talked to in the corridors of the bureau. Her fingers squeezed the handle of the gun. No regrets, then.

.

Booth couldn't breathe. He saw the surprise play in the dying murderer's face as he sank into the ground. He saw a thin trickle of blood inching down the killer's back, less than 5 feet away from him. And before the man and finished falling to the ground, Booth was already diving to Brennan. What now? His hands prickled. There was something that he should be doing, something useful that would wake her up. If she would only open her eyes to him, she would only let him know she was OK... He felt himself paralyze, fear slowly taking hold of him as the seconds ticked by and she did not respond to him. He called softly to her _Bones. _Was she really getting cold? _Bones, please, look at me._ His lungs burned. He just couldn't breathe. _Oh God, Bones._

_._

It broke her heart- fast and painfully- that sound of despair in Booth's voice as he called out to Brennan. _Oh God, Bones, please look at me Bones. _Was he even aware of the world of meaning behind the pleas for her to wake up? Doubtful. At that moment he was too lost in _Bones _for anything else to make sense, to register, to even be important. There was nothing- nothing at all- she could do to break that hold the Brennan had on him. What on earth were they both still dong apart, still giving other people the idea they stood a snowball's chance in hell with either of them? Annoyed at herself for not seeing it before, she walked to a fallen Brennan and a crouching Booth.

"Move over."

It was as if her words had broken the spell that had fallen on all at the scene. The silence broke and voices began to be heard and people started to move. Perotta's hands moved swiftly over Brennan's face to check her breathing. She found none. She rolled Brennan flat onto her back and began CPR. _Come on, Temperance, give me a change to apologize. Just awake up already. Do you see his face? He's gonna go nuts if something happens to you. _But as the seconds passed and Brennan remained unconscious, limp on the floor, the agitated voices silenced once more. The sirens and the blue lights of the emergency team flooded the darkness of Georgetown Waterfront. No one seemed aware of the wet and cold night around them. There was just that a nervous and tense silence.

"Come on Bones. Enough now."

.

She was probably drowning. She couldn't breathe- her lungs felt full of liquid and no matter how much she tried, she kept being pulled under. And she was just tired of struggling to resurface. She didn't even know which way was up. She was ready to give in. Except there was something she still needed to do and there was someone calling. So she swam towards the voice until she heard it almost clearly. _Enough Bones. Come on Bones. Enough now. _The relief she felt was marred by the pain, cruel like a dog's ripping vice. She coughed and struggled to breathe and nearly choked again on the liquid in her lungs. But she knew where she was now. Booth was next to her.

"You're gonna be OK, now Bones, you're gonna be just fine."

Even through the fog of pain she knew he was trying to persuade himself as much as her. It did not feel like she was going to be OK. But there was just no away that she could even verbalize the thought. Her body did not obey her. It probably had something to do with the metallic flavor in her mouth. She closed her eyes against the blinking blue lights around her and she tried to shut down the comings and goings around her, the probing and the people calling her. She just wanted to be left alone. Each new probe brought new pain. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? When it got to be too much, she just slipped into the darkness again.

***************

She did not want to wake up. Waking up would be waking up to pain. So, she resolutely stayed asleep.

.

She looked like Sleeping Beauty- give or take the lines and tubes going in and out of her, the oxygen mask and the way she looked so small and fragile and in that bed. Even if he could kiss her awake, would she want him to? Temperance Brennan should come to you with an instruction manual.

.

Hand. She felt her hand. No, not the hand exactly but the back of her hand. There was friction there, soft, cajoling, tempting. She took a moment to decide whether or not to wake up.

.

5 hours were five hours, for God's sake. And Bones was still out of it. And the panic he had felt was trying to set in again. He held her hand just to feel her warmth again, to reassure himself that she was going to be OK. She was starting to look better, she had more color. At least she looked alive again, which in itself was nothing short of a miracle. His very own miracle.

.

OK, then. She was not a coward. She could cope with the pain. She had before. And before there hadn't been that someone calling her name softly nor that warm friction on the back of her hand. She blinked tentatively. It was surprisingly easy to breathe- even through the burn in her throat and in her lungs. She gave a mental once over through her body. Nothing. It was like nothing was there. But at least there was no pain. So good news. She felt tired already.

.

"OK, Bones, time to open your eyes. Come on, lazy bones." This had to be the lucky number twenty seven. Or was it twenty eight? Twenty seven or twenty eight times he had called her name in the last 5 hours. _Lucky twenty seven, Booth: Hold the thought. _He saw the little flutter of eyelashes. And he got even closer. "Good girl, Bones. Come on, now, open up, Sleeping Beauty"

.

She smiled. At least, that's what she thought she was doing. She wasn't sure her face was smiling. But her heart was. Which had to be whatever painkillers she had been given, because that was a trite metaphor. The heart is a muscle and it doesn't smile. Except hers did. Booth was OK.

.

It had been the worst moment of his whole life. When that bastard aimed at her and the bat broke through her in one single dull thud. She slid to the ground, her eyes closing softly, as if in slow motion. And there had been a moment, a terrifying moment that he thought he had lost her, when she just wouldn't wake up. When they got the hospital, he'd thought that the worst was over. He'd been wrong. Because when the young doctor had come outside to tell him she was bleeding internally, when he recited her injuries- four broken ribs, punctured lungs and damaged spleen, that she had been drowning in her own blood, it had been as if a whole ton of guilt bricks had hit him in the head. The payback shoe for his staged death had also dropped- smack on his head. But now she was awake. Guilt could wait. She was trying to smile. She was going to be OK.

************

_OK. Stop. Rewind. What on earth?_ Wasn't this supposed to be the tearful sweet reunion when the lovers acknowledged their feelings for each other and fell into each other's open arms? She had herself written such a moment for Kathy and Andy. That was the canon. Who was she to be above literary canon? After a moment of self-sacrifice and near tragedy, lovers came to their senses and it was happily ever after. Where was her ever after? Booth was incensed and what had started as a semi-good-natured scolding had turned into a loud diatribe against her senseless involvement in a case that, he had told her again and again that was, for all intents and purposes, none of her business. And he was on a roll too, because the more he said, the more he seemed to have to say, though it all boiled down to a very loud _what the hell were you thinking. _How many variations could he come up on that particular sentence?

Brennan was genuinely gob smacked. One moment he had been smiling at her, holding her hand and whispering things like _OK, now, we're OK_ and the next he was out of control furious. At her. She'd never seen him direct fury at her, not like that. Not like he really hated her. She tried to interrupt. But her throat felt bruised from all the tubes and she couldn't find her voice. It didn't help that tightness in her chest that told her, even though she hated jumping to conclusions, that this was the end of their partnership, that he didn't even want to work with her, let alone have any sort of happily ever after with her. Her heart was beating violently and, as the anger in him seemed to feed on itself, the grief in her turned, in a self-preservation moment, to something close to his anger. If he was breaking up their partnership, she wouldn't hold him back. She wouldn't feel hurt and she wouldn't beg. She wouldn't be able to see him partnered with anyone else- whether on the job or out of it. She just wouldn't stick around for that particular brand of pain. So she pulled out the oxygen mask and willed her voice out.

"Stop." She breathed in so that she could speak around that knot in her throat that had nothing to do with the all the tubes they had pulled out of her. She would not make a fool of herself. "You could just say thank you, Booth." One more deep breath and she continued. "I had new information for you. I could identify the killer and your cell was off. OFF!" She held herself in check; she wouldn't tell him now how worried he had her because of that.

"What information, Bones? Huh? Do you honestly think that seeing a bat hanging on a guy's hand wouldn't be ID enough? For someone so smart, that was a really, really stupid move, Bones."

_Love makes you act stupid._ And it hurts a lot like a baseball bat to the sternum. Probably leaves you bleeding internally, too. But she'd be damned if she was going to get out of this being pitied. Booth was a good man and he was going to pity her when he cooled off. So she shouted back- as loud as she could, whatever she could. Not even sure of what it was she shouted back, except that it sounded terribly like something to the effect of _severed partnership_.

The moment the words were out, they resounded: in the room and in her head. Mostly, in her heart. What now? How was this happening? But before she could think of what to do, before she could process the look on Booth's face, Angela walked into the room, which, in fact, silenced them both.

.

What on earth was all the shouting about? Where was the kissing and making up she had hoped to interrupt? Where was the steamy hot sex she should be walking in on? Instead, there was just Brennan looking like a cross between a Magdalene and a Banshee and Booth looking like he'd been sucker punched to the gut in a bar brawl. Not good. Really not good. He walked out of the room with a _bye Angela_ and not even a word to Brennan though the look he'd directed at her friend was something worthy of a kicked puppy. Brennan had been too busy looking at her own clamped-shut hands to notice. When Booth closed the door behind his hunched back, Angela was still trying to understand what the screaming match had been about. She sat on Brennan's bed.

"Do tell, because I _really_ don't get it." Brennan just curled into a ball as much as the fresh surgery scar would allow and closed herself into silence. "Sweetie, please." Angela changed tactics, from ironic to soothing when she saw a crystal clear tear running down Brennan's cheek.

"He's fed up with me, Ange." _That_ she did not expect.

"How do you figure that?" But Brennan seemed unable to stop. Tears just slid down her face, copiously, silently. This was not a Brenn she was accustomed to. It was a Brenn only Booth seemed to be able to access. And at that particular moment she wasn't quite sure if that was good or bad. Right there and then it looked mostly bad.

"He wants to sever our partnership."

_Wow_. How would the world be like if there was no Brennan and Booth? Funny how that had never occurred to her. And yet it hurt. It was like her parents' divorce all over again.

"Did he tell you that?"

"Not exactly. But he called me stupid."

"I'm sure it he didn't. Maybe it was a misunderstanding."

"_It was a really stupid move, Bones_." Brennan's voice was coming thick and unsteady through the accumulating tears she was still struggling with.

"OK, he did. Brenn, I don't want to pour salt in the wound, honey, but _it was_ stupid. You had me worried sick. Imagine what he must have felt when he saw you falling."  
"I don't have to imagine, Ange. I saw him fall before, remember?" Accusation. She hated that. She hated resorting to that. It was a cheap weapon. She was running out of steam and out of arguments. She felt shame wash over her, but held her silence.

"Brenn, hurt and spite are not a good combination..." Angela recognized anguish and despair. She tried again. "Honey, he's not fed up with you. You just had a fight. A first fight. Why would you think that that you two are above fighting?" Brennan skipped a breath.

"Then why was he so mad? I don't understand."

"Brenn, he's a guy. Inside, he's just his good old cave man prototype. It would all be so much simpler if he just conked you in the head with his club and dragged you to his cave... He wants to protect you. Not the other way around."  
"That's stupid. We protect each other. We're partners... were partners..."

"Sweetie, you still are. You had one fight. Which was long overdue, because if you can't fight, you can't make up." Brennan's face was starting to light up with a semblance of hope. "And make up sex is the best kind." She added because she knew it would make Brennan smile.

"What do I do now, Ange?"

"Well, now you let him cool off, then you sit and talk it over. Hopefully, kiss and sex it over and then you'll have lots a really cute babies."

"I'm not sure about the babies part... Ange? What if he runs to Agent Perotta now?


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's note: Hey, I know, I know, cliffies and more cliffies... But the chapters need to stop somewhere. At least you keep coming back. And I do like to see you coming back. Be patient. We're almost there.**

**Thank you to MickeyBoogs for revising the writing.**

**Jane  
**

Chapter 23

Pain medication made her sleepy and drowsy and made her head spin even when she was lying down. Much like a really bad hangover but without the night before. Which wasn't a bad thing, because at least it had dulled that sharp edge of pain when Angela had come to tell her they had returned Fiona Jackson and Glen Warrick to their parents. That both she and Cam had done the best they could to give them back some of the dignity the victims always lost in a coroner's autopsy table. The pain medication had also come in handy when Perotta had come in to debrief her on the closing of the case. Her heart hadn't jumped nearly as much as it would have otherwise and the knot in her throat hadn't been nearly as tight.

"Dr. Brennan, how are you feeling?" _Why was she smiling? Had she come to gloat?_

"Like someone rammed a baseball bat into my abdomen." Perotta wasn't quite sure if she was supposed to smile. Dr. Brennan could be very literal, but if she had a sarcastic bone somewhere in her, this could be just... well, conversation.

"Oh... Right, if you're up for it, I just came to wind up the case with you." _And say I'm sorry. Maybe. If I can pluck up the courage._ "The suspect was not apprehended. He was shot. Three times. Two on target."

"Hodgins... Did Hodgins shoot him?"

"Well, he tried. The two shots that hit the target were FBI standard issue."

_Right, good, Hodgins had not shot anyone._ That would have been a particularly heavy weight on her shoulders. Jack was a good guy, and did not need that on his conscience.

"So who took the shots?" As if she didn't know.

"Agents Booth and DiSalvo. From the tac team." _Say it now, say that you're sorry._ "Dr. Brennan, why did you go there? We had the operation fully organized. You put yourself in danger with absolutely no need for it." _That did not sound like an apology!_

Brennan shrugged a reply. That cavalry to the rescue of hers was starting to look very stupid even to her. Putting Jack in danger and thinking that she was so unbelievably good she had to be there for things to get done. It had probably been her fault they had to shoot the suspect instead of apprehending him and giving the victims justice. That was on her head. "I'm sorry." It was like pulling the words out of her throat with a hot iron. But they had to be said no matter how difficult.

"Please don't apologize, Dr. Brennan" _You should really apologize, Peyton._ "So..." A few seconds of silence was all that Perotta could bear. "The suspect has been confirmed as the killer of 12 couples, 24 victims. Pretty much same MO every time. Not exactly accurate every time. Some of the vics took a long time to die. Some of them, mostly in the beginning, it was like he was having fun..."

Brennan froze. She wished Booth was explaining this to her. No amount of painkillers would dull that particular pain. She wished Perotta didn't sound so _official_ about it. So jaded. Booth had a compassion for the victims this woman, if she even had it, didn't show. Why was she even explaining it anyway? Booth had told her she was not on the case. It wasn't her case. So why the explanation? "Is there a significance to the number?"

_Wow... Was there? Crap... _Not that she was aware, but come to think of it, yes, there had to be something to it. And always couples. She couldn't very well make it up as she went along, could she? "Well, we're still working on that. _Dead men tell no tales_, isn't it"

"I'm not sure I know what that means."

_And that could only be a good thing_. So she ignored the question and felt, yet again, that twinge of guilt propelling her for an apology for what she had said at the Brennan's office. The problem was that she couldn't make herself utter it. She just couldn't. She kept on stumbling on the words, no matter that she had rehearsed it before she left for the hospital. Guilt dictating her actions, she had even brought Brennan flowers.

"Agent Perotta, I'd like to thank you."

_Shit. For what?_ Oh God, now she felt like absolute scum.

"What on earth for?" Perotta tried to keep her voice level and not nearly as hysterical as she felt.

"For saving my life."

_Huh? Make it more like the mucus that infects the scum._

"Your reaction, the CPR you performed, I'm told, saved me. I wouldn't be here now if you hadn't reacted so fast. So thank you." Should she hug the Brennan? What was the correct course of action here? Under different circumstances, Brennan was someone she would like to have as a friend. Guilt made the embrace a very difficult maneuver. And she felt guiltier and guiltier by the second and still the words _I'm sorry_ refused to leave her mouth. She stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, knowing she had come to say _I'm sorry_ but gutless to say it. She approach Brennan's bed and for one horrible second where relief mingled and danced with worry, she felt she was actually going to be able to say it. So she turned to leave the room. Her conscience almost won and Perotta actually turned on her heal when she was almost out of the door. _Oh, it's hopeless! _ "Think nothing of it, Dr. Brennan." And that, she thought, as she left the room as fast as she could without running, was why Booth was stupid in love with this woman. That was the difference between them. And she had just lost in the comparison.

*********************

There had been paper work to fill in, reports to complete and submit. He had discharged his weapon, so another report on that too. But, back in that park, kneeling on the floor next to her, he'd have been dammed if anyone was going to force him to write those reports. When he got into the ambulance with Bones, they all pretended it was OK for him to do so because they all had seen the bone white of his face, the fire in his sunken eyes. They'd all seen how the he had pulled at his hair while the emergency team worked on his... partner, how he had almost ripped some poor guy's head off because he had touched Brennan and she had moaned in pain. It took several agents to pull him out, to let the emergency team work in some semblance of peace- especially when she lost consciousness again.

So, all in all, Booth knew, he had to be grateful that they had all been so gracious about it. But now, it had all come back to bite him in the ass. The paperwork seemed to reproduce before his tired eyes and he was just unable to concentrate on it. And the sympathetic glances weren't so sympathetic anymore, now that more than two weeks had gone by, now that she was out of hospital and back at the Jeffersonian- even if just because no one had the balls to keep her on bed rest which was what she really needed. Now that he had been in a really piss poor mood for over two weeks. He was still mad, still upset at her but, mostly, at himself because hadn't realized several things: that she was going to follow him there, that he had been shouting at her in her hospital bed, that he hadn't just kissed her silent. Instead he had acted like the idiot that he was and they had both said terrible things, things that he regretted. Things that he didn't know how to take back. Things that he didn't mean and that he desperately wanted to be forgiven for. He sighed for the umpteenth time. He missed her beyond reason. Beyond all the danger he knew she'd be in if they were to be in a relationship. He had known it for so long and still had walked himself into this trap. A working relationship should never be personal.

He would just have to make it otherwise, then.

********************

Those had been the longest two weeks in history- though time was completely all about perception, that much psychology had right down to a tee. All those days in hospital had been torture. Finally, she had just given her young doctor an ultimatum- either sign her release and refer her to a nurse or she would just grab her personal effects and run- or at least walk as fast as she could in that ridiculous brace she was forced to wear around her waist and chest. Now, locked in the ladies room, facing the mirror, she decided that she looked almost normal- she was moving almost normal and her breathing had lost the wheezing sound she had found so annoying over two weeks ago. She was almost herself again. Which meant she had some groveling to do and some make up sex to prepare for. Hopefully.

************

Brennan got ready slowly, gathering courage as she went along. Would he be too perturbed by her new scar? It was a small thing, but still fresh and angry. The bruising around it was far worse. Perhaps she should reconsider the sex part of the apology. Or maybe not.

.

Where was he going to get flowers at that time of night? There had to be a Seven Eleven open somewhere that had flowers. So he searched. And searched. Until he had to surrender to the obvious. 1 am was hardly time for fresh flowers. Wouldn't she be asleep too? He'd missed seeing her sleepy face. He'd just have to find flowers, then, wouldn't he? He hadn't taken her a single one while she had been in the hospital. That was unforgivable.

.

What she needed was an excuse to go over. Even if no excuse was good enough to show up at his door step well past one am. Would he even open the door to her?

.

He needed an excuse. A damn good one too if he wanted her to let him in at that time of night. Just showing up at her door with a bunch of stolen flowers was not good enough. Not nearly. And if she thought back to his screaming back at the hospital, she might just deck him for good measure. Might as well make it a really good bunch of flowers. So Booth put his back into the flower picking. He was stealing federal government property and couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for it.

.

For the sake of vanity, Brennan had left the rib brace at home. It wasn't like she really needed it anyway. Except that sitting to drive was really getting to be painful. Good thing the late hour made it a short drive. Using the rear view mirror to adjust hair and clothes was an unusual gesture for her- she didn't usually worry about such details. But this was an important event. A life changing one. So she geared up and knocked on the door. She would start by talking about the last case, the Bat Killer as the media had dubbed it though that might be a touchy subject. But normally, after each case they always had a beer together and there was always a little moment when she thought he might just kiss her. And mostly, for the last 3 years and change, wanted him to do just so. Maybe she could just recreate such a moment and the initiative herself. She knocked again, impatient. Was he asleep already? And then the thought formed that he might just be in there with someone.

.

Booth huffed. Great, mud all over his jeans, all over his good shoes. She better like the damned flowers. Now he'd have to change and be even later to her place. He'd be lucky if she didn't just ignore the door bell. Would she mind if he used the key she'd given him? He jogged up the steps three at a time and came up short when he saw her standing there, looking nervous and fragile.

"Bones. What are you doing here?" _Boy, was that the wrong thing to say or what?_ That hadn't come out right. Lately, he seemed to have his foot permanently stuck in his mouth when it came to Bones. He wanted to express surprise and pleasure. Instead, the old insecurity and a fresh pain at seeing her hurt came out. And there he was trampling all over her again.

Brennan heard distaste and annoyance. And she saw flowers in his hand and how his smile had faded when he saw her and his face closed in what looked a lot like pain and she immediately thought that she had interrupted a date. Possibly a date with Perrota. Her first instinct- the survival one- was to just flee. Just run down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her and disappear. She could always accept a position in China and be across the globe. And still that wasn't nearly far enough. There was only one option left.

Fight.

.

Booth wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and carry her inside and coddle and make a fuss over her, bring her tea and cookies, maybe even kiss her feet and apologize for being the idiot that he was. But if the look on her face was any indication, she was still pissed and it would take far more than a bunch of stolen flowers to make it up to her. He'd better tread gingerly.

"Come on in, Bones." He stepped aside to allow her in.

Brennan took a deep, cleansing, courage-inducing breath and walked in. He walked behind her, worrying at how fragile she still looked, and, even more, at why she was there. Panic gave him a cruel twist to the stomach. What if she was there to tell him she never wanted to work with him again? His heart nearly stopped. The hugging and the coddling would have to wait. If she wanted to beat the crap out of him, he'd let her. And then he'd ask for more, because he deserved it. She'd been there for him when she'd pulled him out of the Gravedigger's claws, she'd slept on his couch and made him chicken soup and washed his back and kept him company when he didn't want to be in the dark alone. And he'd gone and picked up a fight with her and walked away. He'd have to win her back, and that was the end of it. He'd just wait for what she had to say, take it like a man and then grovel. _Good plan? Good plan!_

Brennan was struggling. She felt like she was choking again. She had no idea how to initiate the conversation. She should have plotted it better, maybe even write an outline of it. Now she just kept on stumbling all over the words and the fragments of sentences that refused to align, refused to make coherent sentences.

"So?"

"So?"

If they hadn't been so nervous they both would have laughed. The first five minutes of a blind date at 17 wouldn't have been so painful. Brennan was the first to gather her courage and her thoughts.

"So, have you found out anything about the killer?" _OK, the ball is in his court._ She sat on his sofa, trying to relieve some of the soreness in her mid-section.

Booth bit his lip, as he saw the slowness of her movements, the obvious discomfort playing in her face as she struggled to sit, torn between the need to help and the certainty that she didn't appreciate the fuss he wanted to raise over it.

"Yeah... Name's Wilmot, Kevin. All star baseball player couple decades ago. Then falls off the radar after an injury. All the money goes, all the contracts, all the endorsements, all the TV appearances. Thanks to your squint squad... Hodgins and Angela," Booth hastily corrected when he saw her eyes narrowing, "we built a good solid case. Got to his shrink too, an idiot who knew he was hearing God and didn't do jack to have him committed."  
"Psychology is a soft science..."  
"Yeah, I know, Bones. I know. When we got into his place... well, his nest... there was nothing in there. I was kind of hoping for some memorabilia... Sweets said that he was a collector, but no, not really. He was trying to complete his Via Dolorosa. 13 stations of pain, thirteen murders."

"Did we stop him in time, then?"

"No, not really. I think number thirteen would have been that night at the park. He wanted to complete the cycle that night at Georgetown. Couple number thirteen. He wanted to die that night. Sweets says it was like a mission and he would have completed it that night. And I think he was right too. Because he left some breadcrumbs for us. There were other deaths before he fell into our radar. There was this reproduction of the via dolorosa at his place, looks like he drew it himself. Like he was Jesus and his cross was betrayal."

"But why?"

"Because he lost it all to an injury. Gambled and womanized away what he had earned and then got bitter. And as he got bitter, he got lonelier and lonelier. And crazier and crazier. And then one day, he just snapped."

"Snapped? Somehow it sounds obscene when you think about the children we had to return to their families"

"I know it does, Bones. But I don't think we'll ever know why exactly. It's not like we can ask him now."

Yep, there it was, the accusation was coming. It was her fault. She knew it. It was on her head that the suspect- well, the killer- had been shot, instead of apprehended, because she had marched in and made herself into a target and had thrown the whole operation off balance. She couldn't bring her self to feel sorry for him, but it was her fault that no one would ever come to fully understand why. And that probably justified why Booth wanted to break their partnership. _But I'm not going down without a fight._


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: This is it, the chapter that you've all been waiting for- and I don't mean Perotta getting her ass kicked. I was a bit nervous about writing this segment- you all have got such high expectations I can only hope not to disappoint. Let me know, will you?**

**Thank you to MickeyBoggs for being so patient.**

**Jane  
**

Chapter 24

Brennan had no real arguments. It was all her fault. She had been the one to screw up the stake out operation and she had been the one doing most of the yelling in their screaming match in hospital. But she'd be damned if that was going to stop her. It couldn't. Booth and their partnership were too important. Too big of piece of her life, too vital a part of her. Without it, there wasn't much left. _Go to the mattresses,_ Angela had said. It was all or nothing.

"Booth, listen." She took as deep a breath as the pain in her mid section allowed. "I'm sorry. You told me it was not my case from the beginning, but I just couldn't stay out of it. And -"

"Bones..."

"No Booth, I don't do this often, so please, please, just listen. I'm really sorry for what happened at the stake out, for intervening so rashly that you were forced to shoot the suspect- though I don't really feel sorry for him. And I'm sorry for the way I conducted myself throughout this case. I almost forced you to choose between your job and our partnership. I shouldn't have put you in that position with the Bureau. And I'm sorry for dragging Jared into that mess because I got him arrested and I'm sorry because I'm always getting you into trouble. From the beginning. And you were always nice to me. Also from the beginning. Even when you had me arrested me in that stupid airport. And I know you're fed up with me, because I keep on making you shoot people. And I know that you think that that upsets your cosmic balance sheet and what you've been working towards. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Booth. I'm sorry for what I said that day in the hospital. I really didn't mean it. I don't want to go back to the lab and be the old Brennan again. I like our work together... I like who I've become since I met you. So please, just forget what I said, about severing our partnership. I can stay back at the lab if you're too mad. But I can make it up to you and -"

"Bones!"

"I can Booth, I can keep quiet and I won't interfere anymore and -"

"Bones, just -"

"I'll apologize to Perotta for spoiling the operation and I'll talk to Cullen. And -" One more thing. The most important, after all. She took a deep breath. "Please choose me. Don't choose Perotta. I can be better. Better for you than her." She was too nervous and the words just kept on tripping over each other in her rush. She didn't see it coming. She didn't see when Booth got up and gently stopped her feverish pacing and silenced her rushing words with a kiss. A kiss that had nothing to do with the kisses on her forehead- though it was gentle. That wasn't even remotely similar to the kiss last Christmas- though it was all heat. A kiss that bore no resemblance to her most private fantasies- though it had been unexpected. But entirely too similar to when he had last kissed her at the diner. When she had been led to believe that he was starting to look at her in a less professional, less _partner__ly_ way. In a more man-to-woman way. He had been trying to shut her up then too. Was this the only way she was ever going to get kissed, talking herself stupid until he had to resort to kissing? There might be some merit to the idea, though. Wasn't this what she had been trying to achieve? Unlikely. Or there wouldn't be that little twinge of pain to her heart mixed with the heat that had been rising in her like a tidal wave as his lips, pressing and warm, had started moving on hers. There wouldn't be that little reserve of self that resisted even his tongue invading her mouth. If this had been the kiss that she wanted, though she could hardly keep her wits about her, why was she slowing her response? Why did it feel wrong?

*****************

It was funny- though it hardly seemed an appropriate word to describe it- how the only thing that occurred to him to stop her apologies had been that kiss. A kiss had had been due for so long it was nearly comical. A kiss that should have been kissed some other way, a way that invested it of all that he had wanted to convey. This kiss didn't feel quite right. It felt like a compromise of the weak, less than it should be. And he should stop now. She was quiet, she wasn't deriding herself any longer. She wasn't all consumed by the apology that was his to make. So why couldn't he just stop that need to breathe her in, why hadn't the greed for her flavor been sated? Why was he still under the compulsion to play with her tongue and lick her lips and gorge on her coveted mouth? Why did that fire in his veins just spread and consume and gain amplitude instead of withering and fading? Why were his hands hitching to grab hold of her still?

Because he shouldn't and he couldn't. But it was his apology to make and her heart his to soothe. Grudgingly, his lips slowed and his tongue gave one final caress to hers and his fingers released the hold on her arms. Reluctantly, his lungs breathed in the air between them instead of the air inside her. Slowly his heart rate came to a manageable rhythm. Searchingly, he took in her confused and still on fire eyes.

"It's the second time you've done that.."

"I though you'd never shut up."

"Booth..."

"Bones... You had me at hello..."

"I don't know what that means..." _Oh God, of course not. _He pulled her gently into his arms and squeezed her there gently.

"It's movie talk. It means that it's not your apology to make. It's mine." His hand ran down her hair, one strand at her time. "See the stupid flowers?" Brennan nodded. "See my shoes?" She nodded again. "I was out stealing flowers because no convenience shop had any at this time of night. And I though that if I showed up at your door with flowers it wouldn't really hurt if you hit me with them. Then I was going to knock on your door until you let me in and beg you to forgive me until you did." When she tried to pull back to look at his face he just squeezed a little more. He wasn't letting go of her any time soon. "I can be very persuasive... I haven't done anything right since you pulled me out of that ship. So I have a lot to apologize for. Mostly about the case. Mostly because I'm an idiot. But not about Perotta, because, Bones, I just don't need to. Same way you don't need to be better at anything. I didn't do anything with her. Because she is not you." This time, when she pulled back he didn't stop her. Her arms were still around his waist and her head barely left his shoulder. She wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

"Just tell me, Booth, is this still a guy hug?"

"No. No Bones, it's not a guy hug. Do you wanna take it?"

All those metaphors about hearts singing in joy, about how the world spins out of its axis, or how the world goes silent and fades away- not a single one applied. She would have to think of something new, something for that moment, because when she leaned into his shoulder again, when she took his formerly guy hug, the world was still spinning on its axis, all the seasons remained the same and no thunder broke, no joyful singing was heard, no swell of finale music broke. There was just them standing in a room, plain man and plain woman coming to grips with a kind of every day miracle that they had been running from for so long. But no one runs forever and the greatest revelation of that moment was that they both wanted to get caught. It seemed only fitting that they kissed because hugging seemed to spell only the beginning. So he took her chin in his hand and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he leaned in to kiss her. And as their lips found each other, as their breathing synchronized and their bodies melded to each other all that been difficult became simple, everything that had been out of kilt settled and all the promises were fulfilled. And even that kiss felt not like an electric storm, nor even like an all consuming blaze of fire she'd been expecting all along, but like the rivers of magmatic fire under the crust of the earth. You couldn't see it but it changed the way she was shaped- forever. And that kiss that was peace outside was heat underneath. And the peace of realization and epiphany of that kiss grew and fed on the energy released by those two bodies in such close rotation and became need and hunger.

_Make love to me_, her hands said.

_Yes_, his arms replied as he gently scooped her up and carried her to his bed.

.

.

Oh, he had fantasized. He had obsessed and idealized. He had, on account of habit, schooled himself to think that she couldn't, that _things_ couldn't really be as he imagined day in and day out. And still, it didn't quite surprise him when it turned out that it was better. Fantasy Bones had a theoretical scent, a theoretical texture, a theoretical flavor. All of which he knew from hugging and touching and smelling and even kissing- twice. His mind had composited a five dimensional portrait of Bones, of image, sound, flavor, texture and scent. She was complete and, mostly, fulfilled him. But this? This woman lying on his bed, this woman he was reverently undressing? This was his very private miracle of singularity. Her gravitational pull was irresistible. His hands wanted to do everything simultaneously- he wanted to caress and undress, hold and explore, touch and contemplate. He wanted to delay the pleasure and take possession all in the same breath.

"Touch me, Booth, please," and his fingers obeyed because the depth of her husky voice and the heat of skin and the scent of her arousal and the need in her eyes were all in the same dimension and he didn't have to conjure any of them up to make it real. His fingers smoothed her hair and traced the contours of her face and searched for her tongue inside her mouth and delighted in the lightest of bites when her teeth grazed his probing, promising finger. And because he could, he draped his mouth over hers and his tongue played her hers and his finger still inside her mouth. And because he had the rest of forever, he took all the time in the world in that kiss and his finger got impatient and traced her face and her neck leaving behind that little train of their saliva mapping her chin and neck. He had 9 other greedy fingers, all eager to brand her and they soon got busy with the small buttons of her purple shirt. And as she moaned incoherent nothings into his probing mouth, her breath lost depth and gained speed. And his fingers got confused and her buttons were surviving their attack. Reluctantly, his mouth left hers and his eyes opened to the buttons and the reality of her and as each button slid open, the fantasy that was Bones opened to reveal the woman in his bed, her black lacy bra and the pearly nubs inside each cup already begging for attention and the silky smooth warm skin he knew was coming suddenly broke his heart because the reality of it was his bruised Bones and his failure in protecting her: that far too big bruise and that thin scar of a surgical cut that brought back that night in the park where he though he'd lost her. And he just couldn't take his eyes of those marks of failure, mesmerized by her capability to survive- despite him. His eyes stilled on that mark and his fingers remained at a respectable distance telling _her I'm here, but I'm scared._

.

Brennan knew. She understood that. He had a mark too, right above his heart, where a bullet had burned though his skin and flesh and had almost taken him away from her. And she'd had to deal with what it meant for her that he might not be there from one moment to the next. Her fingers found his and brought them to touch that bruise of hers and let him get acquainted with it. Her hand laid over his and kept it flat against her. She had feared that it might be an aesthetic problem. It hadn't occurred to her that it might be something else. So she opened his shirt and traced the contour of that bullet until he met her somewhere between his past bullet wound and her present surgery scar.

"It hurts still," she said and Booth was sure that his so very literal Bones meant his wound on her and hers on him.

"Yeah, it does."

"Are you sure you want to be with someone who has the power to hurt you just by being so breakable?" She'd had a year to get used to the idea that she'd rather hurt from losing him than hurt from the not having him at all. It was still new to him.

"I wouldn't want someone who did not have the power to hurt me." And he leaned over her and feathered kisses over her healthy skin and over that gradient shade of purple green, over the healing scar of the cut. And because it was true, because she held such power over him, his lips traveled down towards her waist and his tongue played with her belly button and his fingers got busy making short work of the button and zipper of her pants. He unwrapped her like a present, slowly, admiring each inch of pale skin, each curve of her body, each small detail of her. Her clothes gave in to his will and he reveled in her presence and her scent. His mouth traveled lightly though her skin, searching and probing and exploring. And her body opened like a flower to him. Her legs parted and he descended on her, beaconed by her heat. He kissed her softly around the soft triangle of hair as if asking for permission and when he was happy she was enjoying his attention, his tongue inched slowly down towards her bundle of nerves and danced there until she moaned his name for the first time and juices flooded her. Her skin heated and she became ever more responsive, writhing and twisting, her hands reaching for his hair and grabbing his head thrusting herself in abandon to him and his magical mouth. When she orgasmed for the second time and a sound somewhere between a cry and moan that was mostly his name escaped her throat, he made his way up, leaning on his elbows, because she was still sore from the surgery, nestled between her legs letting her feel the extension of his desire.

"God, Bones, I love your taste." And she kissed him because she wanted to taste herself on him. She wanted to taste everything on him and with him. He entered her in one single forward movement and she gasped and arched backwards into him, offering deeper access to her body. He was warm and hard and filled her, completed her. Her toes curled at the simple ecstasy of that fullness and her legs crossed behind his ass, pressing him further inside her, holding him there when he wanted to withdraw, demanding more and more of what he hesitated to give her in his urge to protect her. Even now, when all she wanted was that sweet pain again.

She was Bones and she was resilient and demanding and challenging. And he was Booth and he always rose to the occasion. So he increased his pace and for more than a few times he was sure he was going to sell himself short, because she was so tight and warm and responsive that he felt at the brink of losing control. And he wanted to make it last. He wanted her to forget about everyone else before him. He wanted to fill her with him so fully, so remarkably that she would never want anyone else again. It didn't even bother him if she called him Alpha Male again. He would pee on trees and bite anyone who dared to so much as look at her. It didn't bother him that he wasn't the first. But he damned well wanted to be her last. The one to last her a lifetime.

Because he was hers in those very same terms. She would be his last.

"I love you Bones. I've loved you for so long." The words came out slowly, with effort, between plunges and withdrawals, but still all sweetness and caring he had gotten her used to. Her hands framed his face and she looked straight into his eyes, because it wasn't so easy for her to say it, but she knew that he would read it in hers that it was true and that she loved him back with all the strength of her resilient heart. And then it happened, she got lost in the dark depth of his eyes, pulled into them as if through two black holes in the sky. She stood at the brink of the event horizon and fell through them, the gravitational pull of him impossible to escape. As she fell, her body spasmed and the sweat of intense pleasure sheened her skin and a guttural sound that resembled _I love you too _escaped her throat, unbridled, surprising even her.

It was impossible to resist, to try to prolong the pleasure, because her muscles, her wetness around him milked his release from him and he hid his face in her shoulder and grunted an animal sound that made her half-laugh/half-cry of pure, undiluted joy. It had only taken them 4 years and two near-death experiences. But now they absolutely belonged to each other. How strange was life that nothing had made her happier than belonging to Seeley Booth.

***********

.

.**I'm not quite finished yet. So, please come back for the epilogue. Tomorrow, usual place, usual time! See you!**

**Jane  
**


	25. Epilogue

**Author's note: Well, friends (yes, I do think of you that way!) this is the final installment. It was a pleasure- the writing, the reviews, the reactions. You were great readers, great company. So thank you for that. **

**Thank you - big, big thank you- to MickeyBoogs for reading, for revising, for pointing out inconsistencies, for being such a great Beta.**

**And one final word to those of you with alerts to this this story. I know you are out there. But you are just a mirage if you don't leave your comments. Reviews are, as almost any author will tell you, our bread and butter (or low fat, low cholesterol sunflower spread as the case may be) So, please, be kind, review.**

**Your's **

**Jane**

Epilogue

"India?"

"India." Jared's tone was as patronizing as Seeley's was incredulous.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because... because India is big. India is massive. India is a whole continent, that's why."

"Actually, it's a subcontinent."

"Bones!"

"What? Just correcting a fact, that's all." But she stabbed her salad, nonetheless, resuming her silence through the rolling conversation between brothers.

"You can't go alone."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why_? Because you're just _one_ guy. You're not used to being just one guy. You are usually one of the Booths or a Marine. You have people to back you up. People have your back."

"Fuck that, Big Brother!" Jared gave Brennan an apologetic look. "Sorry, Tempe." The charm smile definitely ran in the Booth family. "Maybe I'm just tired of people hovering, of someone always having my back." And that was more than Jared had intended to say. Niceties were still unchartered territory for him. But he was trying. "Look, Seel, maybe it's time I see what I can do on my own, huh? You can find me a job when I come back if you want, but now? Just trust me to do this. I promise you can ride to the rescue if I fuck up. Besides," he bumped Brennan's shoulder in much the same fashion Booth usually did, a companionable bump with a wink and a smile, "you don't want me around. Tempe might just want to swap you for an improved, newer version of Booth."

Brennan smiled at the younger Booth. It was good to feel that he had no resentment towards her. It wasn't so much the fact that he'd ended up arrested and stripped of his rank and livelihood, but more to the point, that he didn't resent the things she had told him to force him into action. They had tacitly agreed on not mentioning the issue and that suited her just fine. She hated feeling like the water that freezes inside the rock and splits it apart, no matter how often Booth had told her lately that there was no fracture. That between him and Jared things had always been more than a little complicated which was not unheard of between brothers.

"India, then..."

"Yep, India" Jared took a sip of his soda. Suddenly it had hit him, just what he was taking on. An entire continent- well, subcontinent- alone- and his drink wouldn't go down quite so well. God, a beer would help far more than a soda this new dry self was drinking. He sighed.

"You're not alone." It was his brother, but he sounded so much like a father- when Seeley deposited a gold medal and chain in the space between them. "You're never alone" _Was that about God or about him?_ With Seeley, sometimes the concepts got mixed up. Seeley had always been bigger than God in his book. How had things gotten so out of hand?

"St. Christopher."

"That's Grandpa's medal."

"No! I got you this one. Me!"

"I don't know, man, am I alone if I take a saint with me?" But Jared's heart felt the fullest it had been in a long, long time as he passed the chain over his head.

"Don't even answer that, Bones." She wasn't going to. Honest she wasn't. Over time she had come to believe that for some people, belief in an omniscient, omnipotent being was a solace and even a source of resilience and strength. She wasn't about to take that from Jared. Her hand touched Booth's over the table, reassuring without words. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand eliciting a delightful shiver of pleasure that started in her hand and ran through her body, alighting her pleasure center. The man had far too much power over her body- a power no one before him had ever had. She momentarily forgot about her salad and Jared and the Founding Fathers and got lost in Booth's promising clever finger. That finger that knew how to do so much to her already.

"Well," Hodgins pulled a chair and slid into it in a one fluid movement, "You can have it both ways" and he slid a phone in front of Jared while signaling the barman for a beer. "Dr B., Booth" He greeted with an inclination of the head.

"Gee, thanks. A second hand cell..." Hodgins' smile faded a little.

"No, no, no! This little babe here is a modified handset. Ange and I kitted it out with a few extras that just may come in handy. There's this GPS based, encrypted locater and this extra battery cell for emergencies..."

"And my personal favorite," Angela added as she and Cam arrived to sit at the table, "a little explosive device- mind you, distraction only, but it will buy you time- for a once only use. Borrowed from the CIA handbook."

"Do they know they're lending it?" But Jared couldn't stop smiling. He felt like a kid with a brand new toy. Or James Bond.

"Probably best not mention it"

"Thought so. Why are you doing this? The phone is..."

"Welcome to the family, Jarhead." Had Cam always had that almost maternal look when she talked to him? He probed Seeley with his eyes. Family had always been about blood.

"What? Am I a squint too now?"

"Nuh... just like the idiot little brother we need to look out for." Cam's wink smoothed the remark over.

"The land of misfit toys welcomes you, little brother." Over the table his hand searched Brennan's and held it. It was never going to be easy to just let go of his little brother. In many ways, it would always be the same first day of school. To relinquish control over the safety of the ones he loved... But the hand that squeezed his over the table helped. As did the smile. Was it him or did she smile different when she smiled at him? Suddenly there was only the two of them. God, that smile held his heart in its hand. Hadn't she always? "Quack."

"Quack," Brennan quacked in reply.

"Are they having a moment? I always feel like I'm walking in on them when they do this," Sweets complained pulling a chair to sit with the rest of the team. "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to this."

"Yeah, they're having a moment."

"Is this the moment when we tell them again to get a room?" Cam's words had the desired effect and recalled Booth back to The Founding Fathers. The comment never failed to get him to blush. The first few days Booth had threatened the audacious ones who had made the very same suggestion with jail and pain. As time wore on, the threats stopped producing the cringe factor he banked on and finally there was nothing else but to live with the razzing. Bones took it all more in stride. It never failed to amaze him how comfortable she was in that sexy skin of hers.

"Well, it's none of your business, people. Now if it bothers you, just move along." Booth looked to Brennan for moral support. At least they were together on this. Sweets was nearly happy. They had gotten Booth to blush. Just one more button to push, Dr. Brennan's button.

"Isn't love wonderful, Dr Brennan?" _Wait for it, wait for it._ "I mean, you are clearly so much happier now that you and Agent Booth have accepted the true nature of your feelings towards each other." _One more tiny little push_. "I mean, look at you two: expressions of love, like holding hands over the table... it clearly agrees with you."_ And bullseye!_ Brennan blushed furiously and averted her eyes. And that never ceased to amaze him, no matter how many times he saw it with his own eyes, that the woman would not be frazzled by discussions about her sex life but mention the word love and Agent Booth in the same sentence and she blushed. It was actually sweet. Brennan covered her burning cheeks with her hands and tried to make herself small. All the talk about love still made her self-aware and uncomfortable.

"It's OK to blush, Brenn. You've got yourself a hunk- an over-protective alpha male who loves you. And who you love back- for the first time in your life. If with all of that you can't be forgiven for blushing then there is no justice in the world, Sweetie"

"Aw, isn't that sweet? Well," Jared stood up, "I might as well get going. So much sugar will give me tooth decay. Tempe, my offer stands: you ever get tired of Seel, I'm a kitted-out cell phone away. Just ask Hodgins for my number."

"Yeah, you just move along now," Booth's tone was not all playful.

"Yeah, you better get going then, there's no telling what kind of dentists they have in India." And with that Cam made a quick escape. Sweets was right. It was just like walking in on your parents having sex.

"Besides," Angela flirtatiously grabbed Jared's arm. "It'd be a shame to spoil that smile"

"Weren't you dating a chick?"

"Yeah. Want me to tell you all about it? You know, give you something to remember me by while you're in India?"

Sweets quickly got up to follow. He'd give an arm to listen in on that conversation, let alone be part of it. It was puerile, but hey, he was just a guy with a crush on the lovely artist. And it was hot. So hot!

Jack got up and followed the gang out. He had no talent as a candle holder. And still he couldn't help it but stay behind just a little and look back at the couple sitting now alone at the table, a little lost in the way Booth's hand held Brennan's as he moved to seat by her side, on how his thumb rubbed her knuckles softly as he kissed her hand. And how she raised her eyes and looked at him like he was her center of gravity. It was a meaningful connection. And he was just a little bit jealous.

.

.

Brennan loved to watch her hand inside Booth's. She'd been a grown up far too early, always far too strong. Always too resilient. Fragility. Her hand inside Booth's was fragile and she was getting to like that fragility, that sense that she was protected, that she could really sleep and that nothing was going to hurt her because he was watching over her. She enjoyed being small and cherished. Her hand turned over and draped over his. It was smaller but it was a strong hand. Capable of protecting him. A hand that was strong enough to cherish him. More importantly, a hand that was strong enough to release control over her personal happiness and place it on his. In the end, it had turned out to be that their love- and she still cringed internally every time she used the term- was that they were two solitudes protecting each other.

"You've been very quiet tonight. Are you OK?" His finger took her chin and lifted so that their eyes could meet.

"Yeah. I've just been thinking..."

"That usually takes you a whole two seconds if it's a complicated issue." His finger that no longer needed an excuse to trace the contours of her face just indulged and traced up and down, marveling at the texture of her skin when her face cradled in his whole hand. And then his mouth ached to take hers, so he did. "Sorry," he smiled that devilish Booth smile, "I interrupted you."

"You make it difficult to think."

"That's good, right? Sounds good."

"It is good. Booth... you know there are things that I don't really know how to say... That are difficult for me to say."

"It's OK, Bones."

"No, it's not, Booth. I've kept silent for too long. Almost messed everything up because I couldn't- or wouldn't – say them...." Her voice was coming thick and her breathing labored. "The point is... Oh God... The point is I love you." And her voice broke just a little at that point. "I love you and I should say that because otherwise you can't just know. I mean, you're very good judge of character but -"

"Bones?" And his wandering finger stopped under her chin once again and raised it. He moved in to kiss her. And it was a slow burn of kiss that raised her pulse and made her lose track of what point she was at in her confession. He pulled her into his chest and squeezed her tight. He loved feeling her there, nestled against his beating heart. "I love you, Bones." And his breathing was just a little bit altered and his body had reacted to her as it always did and he could think of nothing better than to take her home and let her tell him with her delightful body just how much she loved him. He would never get tired of showing just how much he loved her.

"Will you always be kissing me into silence?"

"Well, you know... a kiss in time saves nine."

"Isn't it a stitch?"

"It's a kiss, Bones. A kiss in time... Come on now, let's get a room before they kick us out."


End file.
